Chasing Shadows
by DestinyShiva
Summary: Working as a secret agent is rough. From danger, torture, and travelling the world. Then again, having an occasional and amazing one-night stand with a cute blonde isn't so bad. Until you notice they are everywhere. USUK. Co-written with Tenkuno.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes from the authors:**

**I will warn; the first chapter is a bit of a tricky one, because the characters names are not revealed immediately. I felt it right to edit their thoughts/the paragraphs with their faux names, like a proper story would, even though we all know what their names actually are. I hope that won't be too big a problem.**

**Be prepared for a big introductory chapter. As for updates, they should be between fortnightly-monthly. If not, we apologise.**

**This is a USUK fic, in that order.**

**CO-WRITTEN BY DS (me) AND TENKUNO.**

**Without further ado…!**

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><p><span>Chasing Shadows: Chapter One<span>

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><p>Long slender fingers flew across the keys of the board as the sun continued to beat down onto his back. His scalp felt almost like it was burning as he continued to write every piece of information he had so far on this mission. He sighed as he pulled at the white collar of his cotton t-shirt, feeling sweat slide down his chest and soak into the back when he pulled it tight against his skin. Wonderful. A whopping seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit, or twenty five degrees Celsius over here in Europe. A new record for Venice.<p>

It didn't help that he had decided to sit outside instead of inside, but he had thought for sure with the blue and white striped awning would have at least kept some part of him cool. He ended up half in the sun baking to a crisp and half in shade but still sweltering. He picked at a piece of the wicker chair for a minute and glanced at the tomato stains he left on the plain white table cloth, wondering if he should just go somewhere that actually had air conditioner. The old building that the cafe was in surely didn't, it was made completely of stone and brick and then wiped over with a yellowish-beige plaster.

It was chipping everywhere.

Agent Jones flipped his sunglasses up and pushed them through his hair as he looked around the small cafe he was seated at. Where had that waiter gone? He was really low on coke, even though he knew the drink just dehydrated him more. Blue eyes roamed around the restaurant one more time before he gave up on being waited on and continued to type out his report. He squinted down at the screen of his small notebook, hating wearing stupid contacts over his glasses but when you're on a mission you really can't risk them falling off and being blinded.

He sighed as he came to a pause in a sentence, then rubbed his dry hands over his heated and flushed face. "Good god... Let this just be over."

It was hot for the middle of Spring. Terribly so. Anyone that would wear anything much more than a t-shirt would be a complete nutter.

Which, just so happened to make the man steadily approaching the café from a distance absolutely barmy. Business was still everything in the modern mainly capitalist world, but the male that was getting closer might have been taking it a little bit too far.

He was a suited individual, completely black and with a black shirt, topped with colour only by the green and silver striped tie around his neck and the silver gloves he wore. Colour, that was, that did not come from the man himself - for he was bewilderingly luminescent as well. The whitest skin - one could only hope the poor thing had placed sun block on himself, with weather like this - and the brightest green eyes, topped with straw coloured hair, which had been slightly ruined by the wind. Not that it didn't suit him.

He stopped outside of the café, eyes searching. Frowning, he seemed to not see what he was looking for. With a glance over his shoulder - he was anxious - and a worried look back, he stepped up and pretended to look at the menu. Pretended, because it was obvious to trained eyes that he was checking the inside of the café instead. He was looking for someone. Sighing, he took out a handkerchief and tapped the sweat off his forehead - hidden beneath those ragged locks of his - and re-looked over the people outside.

A minute later or so, a chair was pulled up opposite the agent. The suited individual looked uncertain of himself, but he did not seem too suspicious. He was humanly nervous. Poisonous green locked onto blue, curiously.

"_Mi scusi_," it was said in Italian. Not his mother tongue, obviously, by his genetics - but sounded almost perfectly like local dialect. "..._Tu non capita di essere Beilschmidt Ludwig, vero?"_

Jones frowned slightly when the man pulled up a seat next to him and sat down, the sun now burning into both of their skulls. The man was obviously not from around here by the way he looked. A thin blonde eyebrow raised as he watched the man, who was apparently an idiot when it came to dressing for the weather with what he had on. The golden blonde agent himself wore baggy cargo shorts and a simple white t-shirt.

The bright blonde quickly slammed his notebook shut with a loud click and turned to look at the man when he asked him something, again in that tight lipped way. He thought about just answering the man honestly, it was obvious this man didn't really know what he was doing by how nervous he looked. But then giving away any shred of your identity while out for work was against the rules in the textbook. Plus, this man was kind of cute.

A bright white grin made its way on his face as he leaned back in his chair and propped his arm up onto the back of his chair in a care free manner. "Cosa c'è di sbagliato? Hai bisogno di aiuto, l'uomo bello?" He let the words pour from his mouth easily, his acting skills finally having some use as he sounded the words out with a perfect Italian accent. "Si parla inglese anche tu?"

The foreign male sighed, finding the conversation somewhat tedious - clearly. He was not there to have a light-hearted conversation, though that might be what his suit was already hinting to. That said, it was more of an evening dress than for mid afternoon. Where was this man going to? The male reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch, attached to his suit by a chain. He checked the time and gave a tight-lipped frown, before closing it up and looking back to the agent.

"...Questa conversazione è irrilevante. Sei o non sei Beilschmidt Ludwig?" He insisted.

Oh. Well then, fine Mr. Kill-Joy. Jones didn't let his act slip though when the green eyed man completely blocked him from having any fun, so he just smiled and propped his head up on the table with his arm. He chuckled softly, blue eyes obviously giving the other a once over. He loved playing Italian, he got to do almost whatever he wanted and not get smacked for it.

"Non lo sono." Jones answered simply and tilted his head more dramatically, his hair shining slightly in the sun. "It seems your native language is not this beautiful one. Where are you from?" Accent still in place as he asked.

A wide brow tipped up as he caught Jones looking him up and down. The male on the other side of the table frowned and glanced around at the canal, watching the water shimmer as the sun glided on top of it. But he was busy. He could not spend a while wasting time willy-nilly. He sighed and answered in full English, accent blaring. "England," he said, eyeing the other suspiciously. "You can stop pretending you're Italian now. I figured that out before I sat down."

Inside he went cold at his sham being brought into the light, but his smile remained as he shrugged his shoulder slightly as if he grew disinterested, then called at the waiter for a refill. He smiled when the boy finally noticed him and quickly ran into the cafe to get him another drink.

"If you say so." He said softly, accent still in full as he turned to look out at the Grand Canal. "English, mmm?" He picked the straw from his glass and placed it in his mouth, chewing on it slightly in boredom.

Whoever said he was not Italian could go snuff themselves. He was Italian. A good quarter of him was at least, Sicilian to be exact. Italians could have blonde hair and blue eyes as well. He wiped at the back of his neck and rolled the straw from one side of his mouth to the other.

"So, what do you need with me?" He watched Arthur from the corner slyly, daring the man to say he wasn't Italian again.

"Look, while I commend your accent, I'd really like it if you stopped trying to play this silly mind fuck game with me. You're... what are you..." the male looked at the agent, eyes bearing into him as if he was studying his face - which was exactly what he was doing. He licked his lips and gave a knowing nod. "I'd say quarter at best. Your nose arch his much more Polish than roman, and those cheekbones would suggest a bit of Anglo and Irish blood in you. Not to mention, your skin tone is irregular for around here. Tanned but not really olive in complexion enough for a life in Italy."

He then smirked. "Also, are your contacts sore? Your eyes are watering slightly."

"Mmm... A regular Sherlock." Alfred smirked as he let the accent continue. This man was trained for _something_. But then again so was he, and his smirk just grew. "It's nice to know you can tell when someone doesn't have twenty-twenty. I'm sure it _really_ comes in handy, no?" Sarcasm dripped off his words heavily and he glanced down at his black worn converse sneakers and rolled his eyes. "As for my face, I'm sure you have heard of people coming to other countries and procreating with the natives right? After all, your English... you guys should have a _really_ good idea about that one."

He did not know what it was about this man, but it brought out the worst in him. He wanted to see the man knocked down a peg. He smiled at the waiter boy happily when he had brought him back a nice cold coke, and thanked the boy in Italian.

"You are really a difficult character, aren't you?" the other blond said, before shaking his head. "Fair enough. I could have sworn you weren't from here, but I suppose anything's possible. Just had a niggling feeling. Since you're clearly not the man I'm looking for, I'll stop wasting your time," he said, and pushed back his seat so he could get out.

Another check of his pocket watch, and he glanced at the other tables quickly. He did not find who he was looking for, and apparently that made him even more stressed. A hand ran through his hair, and the Briton cursed. "..._Bloody Hell_..." He muttered, as he left the agent's side without a goodbye and started to quickly walk off, fetching his mobile phone from his pocket.

Jones glanced over at his notebook that by the orange light blinking he could tell had gone into sleep mode, and he really didn't want to start up on his paperwork again. Call him a procrastinator but he been working on that thing for hours now, so it was time for a bit of break. He stood up and placed a good number of Euros on the table, enough to cover the bill and a nice sized tip. Picking up his messenger bag he had laid beside him, he slid his notebook in easily and started after the man. "Hey, hey! You are not wasting my time."

Sure, the guy could be really annoying but he seemed like he needed help and Jones was always up for helping people. Did not hurt that when the guys cheeks were flushed from the sun he looked pretty nice. Why not play with an Italian stereotype for his own amusement?

"Let me help you, yes?" He held out his hand for the Briton to shake and smiled. "My name is Natale. Yourself?"

The larger browed individual looked at 'Natale' and maintained his scowl, as if he really was not that interested. But still he held his hand out and shook the 'Italian's' own firmly. Whoever the man was, had a very good handshake, it had to be said. Confident but without uncomfortable squeezing. He must be an accomplished businessman of sorts. That was what his suit suggested, at least. "James Smith," he said. "Sorry, I don't believe I asked you to come along."

Another brilliant wide grin made it onto his face as Jones shrugged, and kept his hand on the other's a bit longer than necessary. "It's alright. I could tell you are in need of help, so you didn't have to ask." He gave the Briton a cheeky grin and finally let go of his hand before slinging an arm around James's shoulder and pulling the man close to him. "So, this Ludwig man you are looking for... friend? Business partner? _Lover_?" He teased, but he was a bit curious as well.

Oh bother. He had picked up a troublesome local. Just his luck. It wasn't his fault that he was the only person there at that café with the description of blond and blue eyed, muscular chap. James sighed, formulating an excuse quickly.

"If you _must_ know... he was a date. A blind date." It was a better excuse than anything else. Say business partner, and he'd be hassled about _what it was for_. Say friend, and he would wonder why he had not recognised that he was not there. Plus, if he was homophobic, then this blighter of a local would _leave_. For the first time in his life, he hoped for the latter. "I suppose I was stood up."

Jones made a soft sound of sympathy and gave the man's shoulder a good squeeze. "Poor thing, to be stood up in Italy of all places. Only place that would be sadder is if it happened France." He stuck close to the Briton, keeping an arm around James's shoulder and keeping physical contact with the man at all times. Jones smiled charmingly when a few women passed by and giggled when he told them how lovely they were. He then laughed and pressed a kiss to the Briton's flushed cheek.

"Do not worry, I have only eyes for you though."

Oh, to be Italian.

If James was red underneath the suit before, he certainly was red now. He cursed in English. Not only had he seemingly picked up an Italian, but he also seemed to be the sort that was flirtatious with _everyone_ and had utterly no sense of personal space. "Do you _mind_? Perhaps you do not know English custom, but you are a stranger. I do not let _strangers_ touch me like this," he glared.

"I have things to do. Kindly let go of me." Things to do? Sod off, James. He had _nothing_ to do, without his informant except find new leads. The other _knew_ his evening was free now. Dammit.

Jones just smiled and kept his body close to the Briton, pressing their sides to each other and laying his head on James's shoulder. "Oh come on. Your date did not show so what else do you have to do?" The bright blonde laughed and took Arthur by the hand and pulled him along, taking him only God knew where.

"I'll show you the sights and treat you to some good food." He let his eyebrows waggle a bit as he pulled the other flushed against him and smiled softly. "How does that sound, James?" He purred the man's name softly.

"Get your head off of my shoulder. You're taller than me and your bending down far too much. It's unsightly," James groaned. It seemed that this man was content to complain about, well, _everything_. He cleared his throat, lingering only in the embrace because he was reluctant to just tell the other, Natale, to get bent and leave him be. Especially considering, well, he _was_ quite attractive. He sighed. A working man _did_ need his time off, sometimes.

"...Very well." He said. "Dinner sounds nice. Though you better be paying. I shan't attend if not."

Jones laughed happily and nodded, keeping the man close. "Of course. What kind of man would I be if I asked you out and didn't pay?" Honestly he could care less about paying, having unlimited funds while on missions was pretty fucking awesome as long as he convinced Bullick that the spending was necessary to the mission. He grinned happily and leaned his forehead against the others, loving how forward he could act without any repercussions.

"So... James." Blue eyes looked down into green and he licked his lips slightly. "What does an Englishman want to see in wonderful Venice?"

It was rather strange how he had gotten into this mess. Still, since he was along for the ride tonight, the least he could do was enjoy it. Perhaps he could learn a bit more about the location. It would not be a wasted night. Nor, James was happy to remember, a wasted suit.

"Why else, but for the carnival in a few days time?" He said simply. There would be quite a few foreigners beginning to arrive now, for the Venetian carnival celebration. He glanced away, blushing, trying to deny that Natale's clear flirts were working on him. Why did he have to fall so easy to a bit of attention and pampering?

Jones smiled widely and kissed the man's cheek again, then pulled out of the embrace and tugged James along. "Come on! I have much to show you." He would take the Briton around to the lead tourist sites that he had read about in the book he bought before coming over here. Plus, he'd been here a few times before so it wouldn't be that hard for 'Natale' to show this man around and have a good time.

Now he just had to think of a good restaurant…

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><p>That evening had ended relatively gently. It had been a night that both participants had enjoyed, but nothing more came of it. They kissed once, lightly, on the lips next to the grand canal, before they both went their separate ways. That should have been the end of it. Should, being such a key word.<p>

It was probably the best (albeit impromptu) date Arthur had ever had in his life. That was so depressing, knowing that he would never be able to do it again.

He already missed those attractive blue eyes.

Later in the week, the sun only got brighter, smiling down on the carnival as it started with much merriment. A plethora of frills, colours and textures filled the streets with masked outfits and their fitters; from plague doctor to Bauta to Volto masks, differing themes and hundreds of artistic and expensive visions. Streets littered with joy and celebration.

As he had promised the 'Italian', spy agent James Smith was lingering there somewhere in the carnival fray - rather conspicuously. After finally contacting the man he had been at the café to see, he had received his lead. A suspected freelance ex-mafia member that was smuggling weapons to the UK and her allies was confirmed to be somewhere here in the streets of Venice. All he had to do was gather the identity of the individual and evidence. But identity was difficult in a carnival dedicated to anonymous men and women. All he knew was where he was expected to show up, and a vague description of his costume. The informant had seen it.

It would help, of course, if he could see much in front of him. His own outfit simply was _not_ working, but he didn't have a chance to get changed. Not to mention, it was performing a certain illusion that was designed for him to trick the suspect.

It was not his fault he was tied into doing such a depressing job.

It just so happened that he was dealing with a womaniser, and _he_ was the most slender and womanly shaped male in the entirety of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Silly female agents for all being busy with other ventures. He could have sworn he was made to come out here on purpose.

The _dress_ he was wearing, as he stayed determinedly out of the sun and into the cooling shade - which barely helped, he would be quick to point out, because it was still about 28 degrees Celsius in here - was certainly not designed for comfort. Why was it so hot? It was _Spring_. Was this where British summers went? No wonder it was bloody cold most of the year back home. The Italians were stealing all the sun. He furiously batted the gigantic white and feathered fan towards his face - disguised behind a rounded white and silver, glittery, mask - just _trying_ to get some much needed air.

His dress, might he also point out, was _bloody heavy_. The rich, jade green and hand stitched silver markings, and the huge bulbous shape was _lovely _for showing off his particularly outstanding hips, of course, but it definitely was not designed with too much movement in mind. Also, the dark green and silvery corset did not help him either. He had curves already, but apparently _someone_ thought he could do with even more of a hand in looking feminine.

Well, lob his bollocks off and call him 'Nancy'. He might as well surrender his masculinity over, right now.

So, his ribs were being crushed. His mask only had breathing holes under his nostrils and at the opening of his mouth, and he couldn't take it off else he break his intentionally flirtatious cover (God, he could feel sweat drip down the blasted thing, down his cheeks). All coupled together with the fact that it was blistering, and Arthur was _useless_ with temperatures like this. He _wished_ he had requested for him to have back-up. Oh, how he wished it.

Batting the fan didn't work. He couldn't even take off his dark silver gloves, either, because they were trapped on with a load of rings. Was it April? The First? He could _swear_ that the chaps back home were doing this as some sort of practical joke.

Still. He had to brave it and put on a professional face. Even if he felt _so faint_. So, _so_ faint. He could barely breathe. He really was going to suffocate soon, if this continued for much longer. As it was, he was making slight moaning noises as he panted for air through the mask - which might have been why no one else was here with him under one of the building alcoves, holding on desperately onto one of the pillars.

Fuck, he could do this. He would not call and abandon the mission. He had _never_ abandoned a mission. His Queen and country NEEDED him. Need! James gasped uselessly and peered out into the sun, looking for a certain man in a certain outfit.

When he thought he saw them, the person he had been waiting for - though it could be his eyes being disappointingly deceitful - he took a few steps forwards before just _falling_ - smacking straight into another's path. His legs having given out.

Strong arms quickly moved around the man, helping him stand up-right while letting him lean on the other.

"Whoa... hey there. You okay?" The accent was different but the voice was familiar as the man moved Arthur back to lean against the wall. He was covered from head to toe in bright orange and deep red silk and velvet, his hat having large plumes of feathers coming out from the back. He looked like a high class pirates from the old ages with his white porcelain mask covered with the same colors of his clothes while gold trimmed the edges.

"Miss?" He asked again, pulling up the man's mask in order to see if, what he assumed was a woman, was alright. The man paused when he noticed two busy eyebrows and a face, that while soft, was still a bit too masculine to be a woman's. A face he recognised. "Ah..."

"G-Give... nngh... give me that back...!" James panted as he reached out for the mask and took it back from the unknown male, unaware that he had ran into the person before. The hands did feel familiar as they were steadying him. He was having an obviously hard time breathing, and had to gasp for every second breath. Now was not the time to get so picky about disguising himself, but he could not jeopardise the mission. Even if he _was_ practically expiring in this. "...o-oh God... _dammit_..."

The man frowned under his mask and lifted it up in order to see the Briton better and as to why he looked like he was about to fall over. Familiar bright blue eyes showed through better and blonde hair stuck out from under his huge hat.

"What's wrong with you? You look really sick." He didn't even cover up his flat American accent anymore, this guy looked ready to pass out as he continued to help the man stand.

"Why the hell you dressed as a chick anyways?" '_Natale_' glanced back over his shoulder to watch something then turned back to the Briton. "James? Are you okay? Do you need a drink?"

James looked at the other through the slits of the mask, still panting away - his breath unable to be found. He made a noise just like a laugh. "...I-I k-knew it!" He declared.

"I don't know how, but I knew it—I knew you weren't Italian...!" James said, far too happily, and folded like a house of cards straight into Natale's arms again. "O-oh my life... _fuck_—Sorry—The—heat—it's... n-ngh..."

Well, _shit_.

Natale glanced over his shoulder again, making sure that he had not missed his chance to finish what he came here for and picked up the Briton completely, glad the man had his mask back on so it looked more like Natale was carrying a woman. He ran as quickly as he could back to his hotel which was luckily only a few streets down from where he had to be.

He received many odd looks as he came flying into the hotel and made a bee line for the elevator, many whispering behind their hands. He wasn't surprised. A man and 'woman' in full carnival wear come bursting in; the 'woman' unconscious and the man running up to a hotel room. Oh yeah, so totally not weird.

When the elevator chimed he quickly moved in and jammed the button of his floor and quickly closed the door. While he waited for the elevator to move, he looked over the Briton as he leaned him against the wall. "Sorry about this dude..." He then felt around the man's waist and frowned when he felt something hard.

"What the fuck?" Natale whispered as he pulled the dress open, only to find a fucking corset. "You're kidding me! No wonder you're dying! In this heat and outfit, then you add a _corset_?"

He knew the man could not hear him, but really? He frowned as he started to tear at the Briton's ties on the corset and when James had enough room to breathe and the door chimed he picked the blond back up and carried him to his room.

Luckily, he had cleaned up most of his stuff so that if James were to wake up he would not find anything incriminating. He slid his card into the slot and sighed when the light turned green and he all but fell into his room with the Briton.

"Alright..." He muttered softly and he carried James over to the bed and laid him down on the bed. He pulled off the mask and head dress the man wore and helped work the Briton at least half way out of the huge dress so he could breath better. At least this hotel had air conditioning.

"Okay... Umm… Ah! Water!" Natale quickly got a bottle from the mini fridge and placed it next to James's head on the night stand, then he glanced at the clock on the same table and cursed. He was supposed to be down there thirteen minutes ago.

"Ahh... Please don't wake up before I get back!" He checked his pockets to make sure he still had the piano wire inside and the capsule for the information and was out of there quicker than a jack rabbit.

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><p>It was a while later when James opened his eyes again, though it did not seem like long. It was still warm and the sun was high in the sky as ever, though plunging steadily into the mid-afternoon. He gave a soft mumble, and changed position. Gosh, his sides were so sore. He felt like he was caving into pieces.<p>

"…N-Nmm..." Opening his eyes, he suddenly remembered himself. _Fuck_. He had lost track of the mission. There was no way he would get the information now! Especially with this dress being impossible to breathe in... and...

He stopped. Where was he? Looking around, James was horrified to find that he was in a hotel room. Someone's hotel room, not his. Not to mention, his dress was undone and so was the corset - showing his plain but smooth and glorious chest and abdomen off. He checked for marks. How did he get here?

With a frightened thought, James slipped his hands into the skirt of the dress and checked his underwear was, well, _still there_. Also his, erm. In his defence, he didn't think he would have been raped. He just wanted to make sure. No, not loose. He hadn't been drugged or anything of the sort.

He slipped his legs out of the dress, revealing waxed legs and the female underwear he was wearing- for just in case his target or someone had lifted the back of his skirt and called his buff. Rolling over onto his stomach, he pointed his feet as he reached in his dress and pulled out a device for communication. AKA a pager. Old school.

'_Mission Failed. Sorry. I am safe. I think._'

Soon the door made a soft clicking sound the signalled it was being unlocked and the knob turned.

Quietly, Natale slipped back into the room with a bucket of ice. He was now in just jeans and a tank top, the carnival still going outside but he had finished his job and was now going to worry about the man he had stashed up in his room in a dress. He sighed happily, feeling much better in a pair of jeans and a tank top than all that frill and velvet and it was cooler now that the sun had gone down thankfully.

James made a noise of surprise and stuffed the pager back from where he retrieved it, before sitting up and tugging the dress over his almost entirely naked person. "O-Oi, do you m-mind?" He called out, human reactions because sometimes agents are not robots in suits, and then narrowed his eyes with scepticism when he recognised the man.

"Ah, of course, it's you. I remember..." he murmured, lowering the dress and showing his top half off - until he re-remembered that he was bared and hiked it back up again. "...Natale. Funny, I really don't think you'd have a name like that, with an accent like _yours_."

"Oh... geez. James you scared the shit outta me." Natale jumped slightly when he heard shifting coming from the other side of the room but sighed in relief when he remembered that he had the Briton in his room. He placed the bucket of ice on the counter of the small bar in the room and turned to give the man a slightly unhappy look before he dramatically sighed and waved his hand in the air. "Yeah, alright. You got me. I'm Italian, but not like... _native_ Italian."

He rolled his shoulders slightly and turned to the ice bucket, popping a piece in his mouth and sucking on it while trying to frown. "Born and raised an American..." He looked at James again and frowned.

"And you? Business man by day and tranny by er... later afternoon?"

"I'm not a..." James stopped where he was, cogs in his mind whirring as he saw it from the American's perspective. He had been wearing a dress for no seeming reason. How did he come up with an excuse for that? "...It's not my choice. The other person I was with went to get us some drinks and he got lost or something. I don't know. I was doing the female role because we don't have any girls in our group and I had the largest hips relative to smallest body - alright? I'm not proud of it."

There, that made sense. Fitted with his story so far.

"...So, you're not Natale then? Why were you pretending to be Italian? Come on, answers, chop chop. Also, I suppose _this_ is why you never brought me back to your house, the other evening!" Rather than the American losing interest, it was because he didn't _have_ a house? This was clearly a hotel suite.

Natale couldn't help but chuckle around the piece of ice quickly melting in his mouth when the Briton seemed to get so upset about being lied to. "Chill dude. You were a stranger, why would I give you my identity when I didn't know you?" He smirked slightly and thought about the past few days with James and he played with the hem of his tank top for a few seconds. "Plus, you seemed to like Natale so well, why change?" He shrugged, not really wanting to explain anymore even if it made no sense to the man.

"The name is Al."

"Ah, here I thought you were a student trying to see whether or not you could easily blend in with the locals, for your Italian course at university or college or whatever you will call it in the States. But that begs a bigger question, Al..." James said, watching over him curiously. "...Why would you call it _identity_, rather than name? You're not trying to be a clever little secret agent or something, are you? Those people are far smarter than that. Incidentally," he straightened up, and reached his hand out.

"I lied too. My name is Art. Art Smith, silly name, I know. I blame my parents. They were also the ones that told me to always lie when I don't know of someone before meeting them to prevent stalkers. But now you've taken me to your hotel room, I suppose that precaution isn't needed anymore. Now, _Al_... Al, as in... Big Al? How American of you. Al, Alfie, Alfred, Alvin?"

The gold blonde snorted slightly at the name and he rolled his eyes, so blue even in the lamps light. He then moved over to Ja-_Art _and stood in front of him, the last piece of ice finally melting in his mouth as he smirked. "Secret agent, eh? I kind of like the sound of that." Best way to steer from the truth was to dance in the middle of it.

"So, if you lied about your name... were you lying about how much you liked me?" He moved closer to the Briton, fingers playing with the skin on Art's arm softly.

Blue eyes pinning green.

Art snorted, and let their eyes lock for a good few seconds, before he was shifting. He left the dress behind, and approached Al until they were only a few inches away from their bodies touching. "Would you be disappointed if I said yes?" He asked.

"If you _must _know, Al, I went out with you because I had nothing planned for the evening. As it happens, I have nothing now, either. So... I hope you're smart enough to derive an answer from that?" He said, and leant back down against the bed; scandalous smirk on his face. A trickster of a man. "Can't say no to an attractive man after he effectively kidnaps me and locks me up in his room. Although, perhaps _saved_ floats your boat better? Americans and their hero complexes."

_He wanted him. _Gosh, he was so silly. How could he want someone that he had only been on one date with so, so much? It barely made sense.

There was something about him, that Al. Something that he felt like he could connect with. But what? What _was_ it?

Oh, a one night stand in Italy, a country of romance, was not that bad.

Blue eyes glinted and a lazy cocky smile slid across Al's lips as he moved over to the bed and shoved the Briton down onto his back. "Please... You're not locked up in any way." He propped himself up on his arms, one on either side of Art's head, and he smiled down at the man.

"You could have left at anytime." Arrogance shone brightly in those cornflower colored eyes and he leaned down, sweeping a soft kiss across the Briton's lips. He pulled back by a hair and gazed into Art's green eyes with a heavy look. "You still have a choice, _Artie_."

It had been a long time since Art had a good-looking man hanging over him with such nice eyes and such a physique, calling out a pet name for him so eagerly. He gave a dirty laugh. "I had only been awake for a minute or so before you got here. Besides, I'm... slightly... _lacking in clothing_," he said, gesturing to his almost naked self.

"I don't suppose you'll help me get dressed again, _will you_?" He pecked Al's lips again, and winked. Come and get it.

_It was instant_.

The moment Art had teased and winked Al's lips were on his, crushing and demanding as he cupped the pale man's face. Was it stupid for him to sleep with someone he had just met a few days ago? _Yes_. But there were far stupider people in the world and plus he had protection in his bag, not that he was expecting to get laid on the job. No. He growled softly and gripped the man's hips tightly, surely to leave bruises later for how white this man was. "Jesus, you're pale, you an' that," He grunted against the man's lips.

Art kept that knowing but devious look on his face, like he could tell that Al was physically attracted to him, despite these things actually being flaws. Pale wasn't in fashion, and it burnt easily, after all. He must have liked his hips too. Al's hands were squishing his sides, trapping him firmly beneath him.

"Oh please, you know your gagging for a bit of my succulent flesh, my sweet," he said, rolling his hips up and grinding their crotches together. He gave a satisfied mewl. "M-Mm... you know, I have people that might think I'm missing. You better get on and ravish me before I change my mind."

The American snorted softly when the Briton continued to taunt and tease him, this guy was something else. Over the past five days he was able to be himself, or himself with an outer Italian layer, but he was able to be goofy smiling Al Jones. Not that serious, emotionless CIA Operations Officer stuff that they drilled into him twenty-four seven when he was training. "You're so weird." He commented with a smirk and then groaned softly when Art ground up against him and he moved to kiss the man's neck.

"So, Artie..." He teased the white delicate skin on Art's neck with his teeth, loving how easily marks appeared on the man's skin. "What's a English businessman doing on a blind date... all the way in Italy?" Al let his hand snake down Art's chest, tweaking a nipple slightly then rolling it between two of his fingers. "And if you need, after I fuck your brains out of course, you can call your 'group' on my cell." Blunt short nails scraped down the English man's stomach.

Little touches managed to do the worse of things to the smaller male. It was not every day that Art was getting pleasured by a handsome man. He might imagine it often, but he was by no means a whore - besides, excessive sex would make his body less reactive. All things that he found previous partners enjoying. He gave a grunt, close-mouthed, lingering in his throat as Al pinched and tugged on him like he was just a play thing.

"Who knows if I was even telling the truth?" Art hissed, wincing as tingles shot from his nipple outwards as it was fondled with. "Maybe I wanted an excuse to chat to a gorgeous man. Maybe I wanted you all to myself, like this..."

Al rolled his eyes and smirked at the man's reply. "Oh, really?" He asked softly and he let his hand lay lightly on the lace women's panties the man wore. A thin blonde eyebrow arched in question at Art with the question of his choice in underwear.

"Wow, you dressed as a women down to a T, didn't you? Your dedicated to your act." He praised and started to rub his palm against the bulge in the Briton's panties, his own member aching as he watched this man. It was weird. This was the first person he was going to be sleeping with after the whole thing with his wife.

And it was a one night stand.

That didn't sound like him at all, but it was Italy and he had done well on his mission. He deserved some fun... right? Al nodded to himself and told himself to stop thinking of things that were most likely going to ruin the mood. He fixed his concentration back onto Art and smiled.

"So, who's Ludwig?" His hand moved inside the underwear and rubbed the tips of his fingers over the Briton's leaking cock.

Art expanded his legs and watching in-between them as Al expertly touched him, feeling out the curvature of his trapped cock underneath the ladies underwear. The lace scratched into him, but it wasn't too much of a snag and strangely, it was a good pain. He jolted his hips upwards, seeking more of it. This wasn't his first one night stand, but Christ, was it the hottest. Sex with a man he barely knew was always thrilling.

"He was supposed to be in my troupe for the carnival. We're designers, you see. Worked together on the designs. I blame him for my corset." He excused his behaviour. "I would have brought you to my place before, but there's a competition here, you know. Didn't want any of our designs to be leaked. And I will say, I look _bloody good_ in that frock. Even if I almost passed away in it."

A designer?_ Interesting_.

Al let his hand wrap around the man's cock and started to slowly pump him dry, letting his mouth move to Art's shoulder and mark him a bit more. He shuddered slightly as he ground his clothed member down onto the others thigh, making it quite obvious he was enjoying this just as much as the other. Then a thought struck him and he quickly stilled his hand and looked up into Art's green gaze.

"Erm… okay. It's not the first time I have fooled around with a guy, but I'm really not keen on you sticking anything anywhere. So, you okay being the bottom...? I don't really want to, er, just, ya know." He trailed off not really knowing how to express that thought, eyes moving to look at the wall across the room. He didn't dare move until this guy told him it was alright or that he was going to leave.

Art gave an agitated grunt when Al stopped trying to pleasure him, but when his words fell out of his mouth uncertainly, he was most definitely all-ears. He listened, and right at the end he emitted an accidental laugh. He didn't want to seem rude, so he had to explain.

"That's alright. Because I have absolutely no desire to top in the slightest," he said, but kept the reasoning to himself. A stranger didn't need to know why he wanted to receive rather than give. But he would answer if asked. It wasn't like mentioning his sexual preferences would jeopardise his identity.

"...Al, I want your cock inside me." He said confidently, eyes burning with desire.

_It was not submission, but demanding and wanting. He wanted it like this._

The American looked back in shock. No guy he had ever known would willingly be the bottom, even if they were gay or not. A slow wide grin made it onto his face and he pressed his lips to the Briton's, while his hand started back up. Alfred pressed his tongue against Art's lips almost not even asking but more demanding entrance. His and stopped pumping to tug at the side of the man's frilly panties and he grinned.

"Hope you don't need these again." With a sharp tug he snapped the fragile fabric on the side and started to slip the ruined underwear down a long thing pale leg.

Yes, the Brit had his reasons. If he didn't want to be underneath the American, would he _really _have given himself over? No. No, not at all. He was strong enough to handle himself and he could have taken what he wanted from the other if that was the case. But no. It just so happened that Art craved for receiving, and that was just what Al wanted to give. _It didn't make Art any less of a man_. It just meant that he liked taking a bit of cock. That's all.

Sexual. _Preferences_.

Their saliva dripped off his lips as Al finished ravishing them apart with his tongue. He sniggered and let Al take off his underwear completely. Now, he was naked beneath a fully clothed man. Sexy. Art eyed his partner, batting his eyelashes to try drive him crazy. Bisexual, probably. Maybe that was why he wanted to fuck him and not receive. Because he didn't find it attractive, and just did not mind what gender bent over for him and let him plough in. With a body like Al's, trapped under all those clothes like a crime, he was sure almost anyone would obey. He rolled onto his front, giving Al his blank canvas to work with. "Don't suppose you've got a Johnny and some lube?"

Al chuckled slightly and leaned down to kiss the man's back softly before he leapt off the bed and walked over to his suit case and duffle bag. "I'm only guessing here, but I'm pretty sure you mean a rubber. Right?" He bent down and unzipped the duffle bag, pulling out his wallet with the fake ID he had been given and flipped to the back of the leather pouch. Ah, there we go. He snickered a bit when the label read, 'Ribbed for Her Pleasure'. "Ha... Awesome."

He glanced around a found a small bottle of travel shampoo and plucked it from the plastic bag in his carry on. "Hope you don't mind herbal essence." He joked as he moved back over to the bed and climbed on, setting the condom and lube to the side as he pulled off his tank top and threw it to the floor. Blue eyes raked over that perfectly smooth white skin on Art's back and he whistled softly.

"Your skin puts girls to shame." As he unbuttoned his jeans he let his eyes roam over the man's surprisingly round backside.

"What, the smoothness? Oh, it's natural. You like it?" Art purred. Every male that he had had in his bed was the same; appreciative, and allured by the fact that his entire body was the same colour and mostly hairless apart from where it mattered most. Not that it was entirely natural. A waxing every so often did the trick. What sort of genetic mishap would he be without it? He opened his legs slightly, letting Al settle behind him. "I'm not used to too many one night stands like this, so you better make sure I'm prepared and ready for you..." He was not some sort of floppy slut. Oh no. Pleasurably tight, he hoped.

"Oh, okay." Al replied rather lamely as he finished undoing his jeans and quickly shimmed out of them along with his boxers and laid his hands on the man's soft behind and gave a squeeze. When Art was turned away from him, manhood pressed into the mattress, it was hard to even tell the man was... well… a man. He was so…

"Beautiful," Al whispered softly then gulped and grabbed for the bottle of shampoo before the Briton could ask what he said. He popped the top and poured a very generous amount onto his fingers, the smell of rose filling the room.

"Mm, herbal essences. I don't suppose you have that advert where a bunch of women wash themselves with it and sound like they're having multiple orgasms, in America, do you?" Art conversed, trying to make light conversation while the other got ready to start prepping him. It was topical, after all. He gave a loud, forced moan like the women in the adverts, just to show off to Al how sexy he could get. Teasing. Daring.

_These are the noises you can emit from me, if you try hard enough_.

"Geez, either your lying and you do this all the time and know how to rile a guy up, or you honestly haven't been laid in forever and are just letting everything out." He smirked darkly as he inserted a finger into the man, not slowly either. If Art was going to be a little tease like that then he would have to show him that he doesn't take teasing lightly. Al leaned over to nuzzle the man's shoulder before he bit into it roughly, finger working deeply.

"About a year. Is that a long time?" Art asked, before he gave a loud and startled gasp when he was suddenly penetrated by Al's finger. Not even any warning. With the shampoo and the fact that he wasn't a virgin, it didn't hurt, but it still jabbed him pretty roughly and forced his hips down against the bed - making his cock grind into the soon to be very ruffled sheets. "...Ngh!"

He gave another noise at Al biting into his shoulder, initially deceived into thinking the American was going to be loving with him. Oh, oh, oh. _Silly him_. "Ah, you know how to treat a man." He said only half-sarcastically. He liked rough sex sometimes too.

Blue eyes rolled when he heard the sarcasm but he eased up and was gentler on the man, easing his finger in and out of that tight hole. "Oh, I _do_. Just gotta show me you deserve it." He purred softly and licked Art's shoulder where the bite mark showed easily on that perfect skin then moved up to kiss the nape of the Briton's neck.

"So, tell me." He whispered into the other's ear, letting his tongue swipe at the shell. "How do you want it?" He sucked on that cute little ear lobe for a moment, letting it go with a soft pop. "Soft?" He inserted a second finger slowly, making sure it eased in comfortably. Then his free hand gripped Art's hip tightly, fingernails digging in and he probed his finger deeply inside the man. "Or Hard." His pace quickened.

Art ducked his head in reaction to Al's teasing licks and sucks at his neck and his ear and any available and unmarked skin he could reach. Already the spot where Al had bitten into his shoulder was beginning to show up as a bruise. He was as easily marked as a peach.

"...A-ah..." Art gasped as Al started to work two fingers inside of him now, winding them in and out his steadily stretching hole. Al's administrations made him stiffen and close his eyes, paying attention to the feeling as he was impaled and violated willingly by the digits. It was starting to give his body a painful buzz, but not something that was overly unpleasant.

"Hard." He found himself suggesting. "Be rough with me."

"Mmmm..." Al let out a pleased sound as the fingers continued to abuse Art's hole, a third finger that was slicked and ready moving in to join. "So, the prude man who said kissing in public was rude and undignified turns out to like it rough, fast and dirty." He smirked as he took Art's wrists in his free hand and brought them up behind the man's back, tugging upward and making the English man arch his upper half up off the mattress. Bending the Briton like a bow.

"I'm just not an exhibitionist—Nhhng..." Art groaned as Al kept thrusting his digits inside of him. There was something comforting to Art about one night stands. Honestly, commitment in his current job scared him. Could be used against him. He wouldn't wish that upon anybody. He was married to his job, and that would suit him just fine. No need to worry about coming home alive. Just home successful.

…Which, today, he screwed up, for actually the first time. Might as well receive a good fuck to compensate.

"So, tell me what else you like?" Al whispered lowly, keeping Art's arms and hands up as he continued to finger him.

"Do what you will. I only want you deep in me tonight, and I don't care how you do it." Art hissed as he stretched his body upwards, pressing against Al's and rubbing the sweat their bodies had accumulated together. The position was useless for him to resist, but it did the purpose. To arouse. Perfect.

"You don't care...? Mmm?" Al shook his head slightly, Art was apparently either a really horny guy or just a kinky bastard. He didn't mind either since he was the first and kinda really needed this after about a year and a half of nothing. The American continued his ministrations with his fingers and pulled the Briton tighter back then pulling his fingers out and actually pulling Art up completely until the Briton was on his knees, his back still facing Al. He kissed Art's neck softly before he took the condom and awkwardly tore it open by bringing his soaped hand up to the hand holding Art up, then he slid the rubber on and smirked.

"Let's see how hard you can take it, eh?"

Art glanced over his shoulder, trying to see what Al was doing. It was mostly not effective. All he could see was a portion of his own shoulder and a bit of Al's body behind him. It did not give him any lead. Looks like he really would be taken off-guard. Which was hotter than Art would like to admit. He might have been an agent but sometimes it was when you had no information that was most thrilling. He faced forwards, closing his eyes and waiting. His body tingled internally in anticipation, filled with want for the American liar.

Sliding his shampoo slicked finger up Art's cleft and teasing the hole with a few prods, Al could help but smirk as he pressed the tip of his cock to nudge in-between the man's cheeks. He just rubbed against the Briton for a bit before he pulled away, nothing touching Art except for the hand holding his arms above his head. Then before Art could question, Al pushed deeply into him, remaining completely still so the Briton could grow used to his length and size. "Mmm... nn..." He growled against Art's skin, slick hand moving to grip the man's pale hip tightly.

Having not seen how large Al was, since he had been facing forward ever since before he had stripped his jeans and boxers off, Art had no idea what to expect. When he felt Al press against his entrance, he did not actually think it was him. He forgot how much a struggle taking a man was. But it was exactly that which he enjoyed. As the larger male pushed forwards, into him quite forcibly, Art could only gag on the air and toss his head back in exclamation. His walls suddenly forced to contend with something far larger than fingers. It burned, muscles stretched to the brim - just enough room for Arthur to not be excruciated by it. His face lit up with difficulty. "A-agh..." he murmured. "_Christ_, Al-l..." Close eyes, close mouth, breathe, open eyes, _breathe_.

The American did his best to calm down while his cock was encased in something so tight and wonderful it made his toes curl slightly. "Jesus!" He breathed harshly against Art's shoulder and his entire body shook for a moment. When he heard Art mutter softly, he was worried he had hurt the man and quickly moved to kiss his neck doing his best to say he was sorry.

"S-sorry... sorry..." He gulped and tried not to focus on what his head down below was telling him to do. "Tell me when to move... I don't want to hurt you..."

"_Gosh_," Art gave out under his breath, barely audible even here in the otherwise empty hotel room. His body tightened and released around the American as he struggled to adjust, but eventually it came to a manageable level. He tried to twist his head to look at Al, again, but he was not an owl and not particularly inhumanly flexible in the neck-area. He did manage to stretch so Al's chin was in view, though, and Art gave it a light kiss, before he hissed and looked forwards again.

"I-I had no idea you were so..." Art moaned and gave a titter. "I knew you'd be... but... _oh_. Oh, Al. Move."

Al let out a soft breath and grunted into Art's ear as he received permission to move. He nodded slowly and moved his other hand up, taking one of Art's hand in each hand and pressed them against the wall in front of the Briton. "Let's go then..." He whispered softly and kissed that small ear before he gave a soft buck of his hips and then pulled out, sliding back in with a rough loud hiss of pleasure. "O-Oh man..." The American breathed, feeling his skin start to tingle with pleasure.

Re-positioned, Art was now lingering over the headboard. He rested his cheek against the cold wallpaper of the hotel suite, letting that sensation mix with the one in his lower body - although there was no fooling his body to believe that the Yank's intrusion was any lesser. He would not lie - it hurt, but there was something splendid in that pain. It reminded him just how real this was. As Al started to thrust into the rarely defenceless Briton, he waited till he thought he understood Al's rhythm before trying to eagerly push back. "Ngh—!"

"Jesus!" Al gasped loudly when he felt the Briton start to move with him and he rested his chin on the man's thin bony shoulder. "You... you a-adjust fast, sweetness." He hadn't meant to give the guy a pet name, it's just something that happened with him. He gave almost everyone pet names or nick-names, and having sex was definitely not helping him keep up his emotional barrier. He licked his lips and intertwined their fingers as he gave another thrust, this time putting more into it.

"I'm known to adapt _pretty sodding well_!" Art called back out to him. He was a little taken aback by the pet name, considering that they would not see each other after this bout of loud sex - but every man had their thing. Apparently Al's was to give endearing terms to people that do not, in the long scheme of things, matter. He placed his hands on the wall firmly, making sure the male's thrusts did not plough his hips painfully into the headboard in front. Small grunts left his throat, eyes fluttering as he concentrated on the constant movement of Al's cock sliding in and out, leaving him empty, or filling the void straight up. Just about fitting like a puzzle piece.

Maybe it was all in his pleasure fogged head, but Al found that Art smelled amazingly good. Plain ivory soap, vague soft scented shampoo, something that smelled like fragrant leaves, and then there was just the Briton. It made him shutter as he kissed the man's neck softly and continued to move his hips but breathed a question into Art's ear.

"May I look at you while we do this?" It was silly, really. But he hadn't had sex with anyone but her in so long, he needed to stop pretending it would happen.

He needed to know this was Art Smith... not _Jasmina Jones_.

"Please..." He whispered softly, his hips stilling a bit.

The request surprised Art, because this gorgeous being actually wanted to see _his_ face while they had sex. Sex, because it was not making love - they barely knew each other - but it was not emotionless fucking either. They did have a connection. If he was not an agent, perhaps he would have chased this up. It was rare that such a lovely, handsome looking man wanted not only to be inside you, but to pay attention to who you were as well. That was a man worth wanting. "Fine, just a second—Pull out, let me just..."

It was easy. Art was light and after all those years of being in the service made Al no weakling, so as soon as Art gave the word the blue eyed man pulled out and quickly spun the Briton around. Crushing his lips against the others, he pulled Art's legs up so that they hooked over his shoulder. Gripping the man's hips tightly, he let out a small breath between their lips as he pressed in again letting out a small whine as he did so.

"Oh... maaan. Ja..." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. No, this needed to end here. His eyes snapped back open and blue stared intensely into Art's green. "Art..." Al whispered softly and gave another thrust, his rhythm starting to pick up.

Was that almost another name? Oh, cry his heart out. It was always awful when your partner almost says another name. Rather than point it out, Art cupped the back of his head and let his fingers tighten in that messy and somewhat sweating mop of hair. "Arthur," he assisted. He did not know what made him point it out, but he did. "My full name—nn. It's Arthur."

Al licked his dry lips when the man gave him his full name, somehow it suited him far more than just Art. "A-Arthur..." He tried out softly, his breath hitching slightly from the heat starting to build in his stomach. He smiled a soft shaky smile and buried his nose into the Briton's neck with what sounded like a soft sob.

"Arthur..." He muttered against the man's skin and gave a particularly rough thrust. "Arthur... Arthur... Nnnn!" He bit down on Arthur's neck and the sudden wave of pleasure that hit him and he shuddered. "My... My name... I-is Alfred."

_Identity be damned._

"Ah, and here I—mmnh—Here I was worrying you were an Alvin," Arthur laughed at the idiocy of it, and felt the balls of his feet trace Alfred's back as the American continued to ravish his body, sinking deep into him with each throw-back of his hips. Arthur's own moved rhythmically, going with the flow Alfred was leading. A dance of sweating hips and thighs and junk. He pulled Alfred down, making him take a hard kiss before letting go. His eyes darkened lustfully, watching the male move and feeling him jerk forwards and back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alfred," Arthur said, cracking a smile.

Those green eyes.

They were beautiful.

_They weren't brown._

"Nice to meet you too, Arthurrr..." He smiled back and then pushed their lips together again, groaning loudly into the other's mouth as he pushed his tongue inside the Briton's mouth. He let one hand trail down Arthur's chest and stomach to grab a hold of the other man's cock, giving it a few sharp pumps. Alfred pulled back for air and smiled brilliantly down at the Briton. "You are definitely what the doctor ordered, _Arthur_." He purred the man's name, loving that he was actually able to do this without feeling guilt or shame.

It was significantly harder to kiss convincingly when you were smiling like you were crooked mentally, but Arthur seemed to manage it. He groaned into the other's mouth, suckling on his tongue while Alfred gave him a few well-timed tugs. In their fast approaching finishing moments, Arthur's body felt like it was on fire. It was unlike other men he had bedded - so fulfilling, spreading from his fingers right to the tips of his toes. Burning passion, you might say. God, he was a living cliché. It frustrated him to no ends, as he panted loudly and arched deliriously as Alfred slammed into his prostate and let that burning spark a fuse for fireworks to spew and come to life behind his closed eyelids.

Alfred dug his fingers into Arthur's hips, his nails making small crescent shaped marks in that pretty white skin. Oh, he was close. The American licked his dry lips and ground his hips down further as he tried to push himself and Arthur over the edge, loving the sounds this guy made. Wonderfully soft and breathy but still very much male. Oh, yes. Arthur was _just_ what he needed. He groaned out sharply as he placed one hand over Arthur's hardened nipples and gave it a pinch. "F-Fuck... Arthur... Arthur... _Arthur_!"

"Nmm—Alfred!" It was rare, when he had sex, that Arthur would finish first. Usually they'd - his previous partners - finish with him and have to pump him till pleasure fulfilled his need, but Alfred was somehow able to do it all. Many senses of pleasure were tapped into at once, and that was just too much for him. He never expected to have the best shag he had ever gotten, thus far, in Italy - but it was an appropriate location for it.

"Alfred_, y-yes_..." Arthur looked so desperate and intense for just a split second - a vulnerability most never get to see unless they're above him - as he contorted and spasmed at the force of the orgasm Alfred spread through him; not focused just in his abdomen and hips, but in all of his body. "Alfred!"

The golden blonde gasped when he felt his hand fill with Arthur's seed and he gave a few extra pumps to make sure the Briton was completely done before he let go and then picked up the pace with his thrusts until the sound of the slick skin slapping against each other seemed far too loud. A sharp shot of pleasure shot into Alfred's gut and he moaned loudly, his entire body going still as he leaned his forehead against Arthur's and came. "A-Arthur..." He gasped, hot breath ghosting over the Briton's lips as he continued to spill into the other man.

New as this man was, Arthur couldn't help but be disappointed when Alfred finished inside of him and he could barely feel it. Still, the condom stopped him from a lot of unnecessary internal cleaning. He didn't have the patience for that at this time, and it was awful going back to his own hotel with cum all inside him.

Come to think of it, Arthur had no idea where he was. He could be anywhere. Five miles from Venice or within the very core. Honestly, the hotel décor was strikingly similar to his own. Don't tell him that they were in the same place. What a worrying thought.

He panted beneath Alfred, but had recovered quite quickly. He was a fit man - not easily starved of oxygen. He watched the other gasp for breath, and Arthur felt the urge to kiss him again take over. Their lips pressed together tightly.

Alfred smiled against the lips pressed to his and he kissed back, his bangs clinging to his forehead from sweat. He kissed Arthur's lips again once more before pulling away and pulling out, sliding the condom off and tying it in a knot before tossing it onto the floor. He would put it in the garbage later. With a long, loud, happy sigh he slid up next to the Briton and pulled him into his arms. "I really hope you don't mind snuggling, cause I'm a sap for it." One night stand be damned, he would get his human contact.

"So... would your group mind if you, er, maybe spent the night here tonight?" Alfred's cheeks were red and he knew it, so he pretended to play with a piece of Arthur's hair while he asked.

"Will confess, I don't usually go for it," Arthur said, as he sunk against Alfred and placed an arm on his torso as they lingered side by side. He considered the proposition, not quite sure whether it was worth it. They were going to get attached if they kept acting like lovers. He did not fancy having to look back on his life, lusting after a love he would never see again. "They'd be disappointed in me anyway. Better leave their annoyance till morning, don't you think?" Arthur smirked. He did not fancy calling up, telling them that the mission was a failure.

Alfred grinned wildly and nodded, pressing a kiss to Arthur's lips before he snuggled deeper into the covers with the man in his arms. He laid on his side so he was able to look into Arthur's eyes easily and he sighed happily. "I got to say... for a fling, I'm glad I got to have it with you." He traced the outline of Arthur's collar bone and then yawned widely, his eye lids drooping a bit before he smiled again. "Arthur Smith from England." He'd remember the name, the face and everything else. He closed his eyes and pulled the other closer to him, resting his chin on the straw blonde head. "Good Night Arthur..."

"Night night, Alfred," Arthur said softly, and pressed up against the American. Sure, the bed now smelled of sex and sweat, but he could still detect the light odours of after-shave and body washes on Alfred's skin, especially his chin and neck. It was attractive. Annoyingly so. He leant up, pressing his lips to his cheek, and wondered privately if Alfred knew that he was the best Arthur had had. His eyes slowly fell closed, and he became shocked how easily he had fallen to sleep within Alfred's arms.

* * *

><p>When Arthur woke, it was bright.<p>

Sunlight poured in from the window along with the refreshing smell of the bakery across the street. The Briton was wrapped carefully into the sheets so he wouldn't become cold during the night, now that there were no large arms around him to keep him warm.

Alfred was gone.

No suitcases, no clothes, not even used towels were around to show that was any evidence of the American had been there. The only thing that showed there had been another in the room with Arthur was laying on the pillow next to the Briton's head. A small pink and white cyclamen laid on the stark white pillow with a small piece of notebook paper under it.

Once he was awake, he realised it felt like the most peaceful night he had had for a long time. It was a comfy bed, and his body had been exhausted prior. He looked up. He was not alarmed that Alfred was gone. No, too early morning for that needless nonsense.

He picked up the flower and smelled it briefly. Call him a pansy, but he was smitten for this sort of thing. Did Alfred go out and get him this? He checked the stalk. Freshly cut. _He did_.

Then it came to the letter. Honestly, he wished that Alfred could have said goodbye to him in person. He sighed, and grasped the note to read it. Good handwriting. How had Arthur slept through all of this? He stroked it, and tried to smell any scent of Alfred on the paper. It just smelled of paper.

'Arthur,

Last night was awesome. Sorry I had to leave so early, but ya' know. Work. I hope you have a good rest of your trip.

Alfred.'

"You're a total sod," he said to the paper, speaking of the one that gifted it to him. He read the words, and for some reason it made him very frustrated. Arthur huffed. Work, was it? He never mentioned anything about 'work'. He snapped up, hands on either side of the top of the paper - preparing to tear it in half and just dismiss this as another ridiculous one night stand of his.

He was not sure why he didn't, and pressed it to his heart. He was not sure why he ignored his pager for another hour's worth, closing his eyes and enjoying the sheets he and Alfred shared.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, sir."<p>

Alfred glanced up and smiled winningly at the beautiful brunette, his glasses perfectly perched on his nose as he tilted his head at her cutely. "Yes, Miss?" He replied politely, adding a few more words to the text before he sent it off and exited out of the message center. She smiled warmly down at him and then pointed to the sign above his head.

"The captain is about to take off, so I will need you to buckle your seat belt and please turn off your cell phone." She asked politely, bending her knees slightly so they could be a bit more eye level. Alfred smiled and nodded, turning the power to his phone off with a soft chime and reaching over to grasp his seat belt. "Of course. Sorry about that."

"No worries." And with that said she was gone down the aisle informing other passengers that they needed to buckle their belts and turn off their electric devices. Alfred chuckled softly and shifted in his carry on for something, and smiled at the lady next to him when she raised an eyebrow at his movements. When he fished out a small printed out picture, folded up several times so it would fit inside the bag with no problem.

He smirked as he unfolded it and the woman beside him gave him a strange look. "Yeah, I know. Isn't he beautiful?" They both looked down at the picture of a sleeping straw hair colored man with enormous thick brows, clutching a pillow tightly with a small bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. Alfred chuckled, feeling warm inside at the sight even if it was only a picture.

"Good Morning everyone. Thank you for choosing United Airlines for your travels. Today we will be flying from Venice, Italy to Grimstad Norway."

* * *

><p><strong>If you managed to get to this point reading it all, you deserve praise and a medal.<strong>

**Thank you very much.**

**All will be revealed.**

**DS and Tenkuno.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick but important Warnings:**

**Mentions of trafficking/kidnap/murder.**

**Couples other than the main pairing, aka USUK. (Past+Present!FrUK, Past!AusHun, Past!USxOC, Past!xUK, Present!CanxOC).**

**If you don't mind those, then please enjoy the fic!**

* * *

><p><strong>February 28<strong>**th****. Grimstad, Norway.**

Watchful blue eyes moved back and forth rapidly as he focused all of his concentration on his task. His palms grew a bit sweaty as he tried to think, time running against him as he tried to fit the pieces together and solve this crazy conundrum. Unknowingly to the American his tongue made its way out of his mouth, poking out in the corner ever so slightly like it always did when he had to think quickly and well.

"Shit... come on! There has to be something else!"

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he continued to use his master wit to solve the problem ahead of him. He heard his phone buzz faintly and he growled as he eyes remained glued to the issue at hand.

"Oh, come on... not now whoever you are," the phone continued to vibrate violently, causing the table he was sitting at shake softly. Alfred huffed loudly as he made a grab for his mobile without looking at the caller ID and then let out an excited yelp when the sound of exploding jewels sounded from his computer.

Bejewelled was amazing.

Quickly he clicked the answer button on his phone and pressed it to his ear. "Jones speaking," he replied happily, now able to move onto the next level of his favorite time-consuming game. Alfred moved from the small desk table that was in his tiny hotel room over to the messy double bed that he had not let the maid make. Laying down comfortably he sighed as his body sunk into the soft mattress.

"_You answered_."

The American sighed, trying not to let a frown come onto his face when he recognized the voice instantly. It was hard to forget a brother's voice. "Mattie... I thought I told you this was for emergency calls only." He groaned out as he let his hand swipe over his face and press into his closed eyes.

"_Well, when you don't pick up all the four hundred and eighty times I call you on your personal cell, it becomes an emergency_."

Alfred tried not to become irritated by his brother's nagging tone. "Okay, sorry. What is it?"

There was a soft pause over the line before his brother decided to speak again.

"_Nothing, really. Just kinda missed hearing my brother. Was starting to think I was an only child._"

Alfred rolled his eyes when he heard the sarcasm in his brothers voice, knowing what was coming next.

"_You know Mom's really hurt you didn't try to make it to her birthday party last week, and Dad's pretty pissed that you didn't come for Easter also_."

The blue eyed man sighed as he reached over for a pen and started to twist it between his fingers. "Didn't mom get the card I sent her? And I mean come on... Easter isn't even that big of a deal. It's not like a missed Christmas—"

"—_Again_?"

A scowl started to form on his lips. "My_ point_ is... I'm trying, okay?"

He knew his brother didn't buy it when he let out a loud sigh from the other end, and started to be silent. Alfred hated it when his brother grew quiet, because it meant that he was thinking about bringing up things Alfred didn't enjoy. Like getting super dressed up, or going to those sun dance festival things or—…

"_It's been over a year now since she died, Alfred_."

Or that.

"Look, I'm really busy right now, Matthew." He only used his brother's full name when he was pissed, and right now Mattie was really pushing it. He listened as his brother told him he had better not hang up on him or he would call his private number for hours, not caring if it got his baby brother shot in the head. Mattie would do it too, it's that stubbornness that they both shared.

When Alfred finally agreed not to hang up Matthew continued, slowly and carefully, but still continued.

"_It's been hard on all of us, Al. Don't you think we miss her too?_"

"Yeah? But she wasn't _your_ wife now was she, you ass hat?"

Alfred cringed when the other side went quiet and he instantly felt guilt starting to swell in his chest. "Look... Mattie. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just this subject is really touchy, ya know? I still don't like talking about it too much." He let his shoulders sag in relief when he heard Matthew snort in the other end, knowing that meant that his apology had been taken and he was forgiven.

"_We just miss you, Alfred. You're our family_."

Alfred smiled and cradled the phone to his ear gently, knowing that Matthew couldn't see the caring smile on his face so he didn't mind showing it. "I know, I am. And I always will be. I know I'm kinda in limbo right now, with work and what not but that doesn't mean I will be forever. I just... I need time to get over a few things okay?"

He laughed when Matthew half-heartedly agreed and told him that if he didn't come home soon he would beat him with either a hockey stick or a curler broom.

"So, how's my favorite little lady?" Alfred asked, getting happier as he thought of his niece with her big violet eyes and long dark brown hair. Last time he had seen her she had been three, so she must be about five now. When Matthew started to go into story telling mode, Alfred could feel himself relax as he was regaled with stories about his ornery little niece. He laughed again when Mattie started to tell him about how she had gotten into her mother's make-up drawer.

"Do _you know how long it took me to get that lip stain off that child_?" Alfred snorted softly at Mattie's rant, being able to just picture him trying to pin Kate down to get all the eye-shadow and lipstick off of her.

"I bet she was beautiful." He remarked and chuckled in unison with his brother when he heard Mattie's wife in the background give a loud sigh of frustration. "Well, it's nice to know that Kate is living up to the Jones expectation."

"_Ah. Ah. She's a Williams. If you want Jones, you're going to have to spawn your own_." Matthew went a little quiet after his comment, worried he had made his brother remember that he actually had no one to populate with. But, Alfred just laughed easily and nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Guess I'm going to have to find my own baby maker..." He smiled slightly when something, or someone, came to his mind. "Maybe... someone petite, with blonde hair, and some awesome green eyes."

"_Wow. Getting pretty exclusive there. Green eyes are a rarity. So, good luck with that._"

Alfred grinned at his brother and nodded even though Matthew couldn't see it. A rarity, huh? Well, that would sure explain the man. He sat up on the bed and looked over at the pretty good disguise he had put together for the evening. "Well, I hate to cut this talk short but I actually do have to start working."

"_Yeah. Yeah. Don't get killed_."

"I won't."

"_Love you, Alfred_."

He couldn't help but pulling the phone closer. "I love you too, Mattie."

* * *

><p>Alfred sighed as he pulled the large dirty blue coat tighter around him and shivered. Grimstad was pretty nice during the day when the sun was up, but once that ball of fire set it grew pretty nippy. The American scratched at the dark brown facial hair that covered the lower half of his face in a pretty impressive beard and tried his best not to wipe at the make-up around his eyes that gave the illusion he was a good twenty years older. He pulled his wool knit cap over his head a little further to hide his golden eyebrow as he walked along the dark street.<p>

He could smell the ocean and almost hear the waves from where he was. Maybe he could go fishing some time tomorrow when he was finished here. His next flight wasn't until Sunday. Alfred glanced up at the old white-washed stone building he had come up to and took a deep breath. Inside was the man he needed to identify, and he only a handful of ideas on what the guy actually looked like. He just prayed that he didn't make the mistake of picking someone else and blowing it.

With a curt nod he pushed open the heavy wooden door, greeted by wonderful warmth and the smell of alcohol and food cooking.

His eyes roamed over a few of the men already inside, just as their eyes briefly glanced over him. He nodded to the bartender and trudged his way over to it, dragging his leg slightly to make it seem like he was not in very good shape. He let out a loud sigh when he sat down, twisting his back so it cracked loudly. He ordered a Pilsner when the woman at the bar asked him what he wanted. He fitted in, or as much as you could being a gruff, dirty old man. Perfect.

Alright. Dark hair, late fifties, medium build and wears a ring on his left pointer finger. Alfred's eyes discreetly moved around the room, looking for anyone that fit that description.

There were about three, minus the rings cause he could not exactly see their hands without going up and looking. He turned in his chair slowly and took the bottle of beer that had been given to him. Watching for what seemed like hours, he smiled slightly when a few men whispered under their breath about that creepy old man by the bar. Finally, he saw two of the men he was watching raise their left hand. He was disappointed when he noticed at least one clearly wearing a ring, but was not upset for long as the other man in the corner called for another drink while waving his left hand in the air.

That's the cue. Show time.

Alfred slid off the stool and stumbled his way towards the man in the corner, leaning all of his weight on his fake good leg. He gave the man a wide grin, which he had also put a bit of yellowing on his teeth so it would fit with his grungy appearance.

"Eh, may I join you?" He bit out in Norwegian, voice rough and scratchy.

The occupant of the table gave a gruff hiss in the back of his throat - either a dismissal or an unbothered permission for the other to take a seat. Luckily for Alfred, there was a spare seat at the table, and the old Norwegian finally gave clearer permission of his consent by gesturing towards it. He did not once look at Alfred properly. Instead the old, crusted eyes were darting from table to table elsewhere, landing on the women in particular.

The older male chewed the inside of his lip, before raising his empty glass at the staff member walking by. She did not pay attention at first, so he grabbed her wrist and twisted her around to face him.

"Get some beer," he ordered, forcing the woman to take it, ignoring her flustered look. She carried on about her duty, frowning at her now sore wrist. The Norwegian faced Alfred for the first time, rolling his eyes.

Alfred grunted softly as he slid into the booth next to the man, not daring to brush up against the other in case it alarmed him.

"_Women_. Belong in a kitchen or a bedroom, or cleaning up the mess. Stupid girl." The abusive male muttered in a husky growl. He then looked up at his new companion uncertainly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Andor." He said roughly, then went into a coughing fit making it sound like he had awful phlegm that needed clearing. He glanced over at the women the man had been eyeing and smiled like a letch, letting his eyes roam over one brunette girl's body obviously. "You do not happen to be Klaus Dahler by any chance would you?"

He grinned widely when he saw the brunette woman turn around and see his leering, which she then scowled deeply and hugged the man next to her tighter whispering something in his ear to which the tall male glared in his direction.

Alfred averted his eyes and turned to man next to him in the booth. "If you are... I hear you have some very nice _things_ for sale."

"Depends who is asking," the gruff male said. The lack of denial meant automatically that the name was right. If it was not, he would have denied it - not too quickly, too, for that was just as suspicious. He coughed into his hand, and took his filled beer from the server as she returned, not bothering to thank her. He did, however, take a few seconds to evaluate her bottom as she walked away stiffly - knowing his dirty eyes were on her.

"Who says I'm selling anything?" It was a clear try to avoid deception - too transparent, though, to a professional like Alfred. He was selling. That was clear.

"How much do the English speaking ones run for now?" Alfred questioned as he took a swig of his beer and let out a long content sigh before he blew his nose on his sleeve and sniffed a few times. He then scratched his chin, beer froth sticking to the hair around his mouth. Glancing over at the women again, he smiled and looked down into his pale ale, using his tongue to loudly pick at his teeth.

"I would like to bid..." He flashed the man his wallet filled with krone, and glanced over at the man making sure the man knew he would pay. "I need to know where the biddings are held is all, an old man like me doesn't have very good sources anymore."

It was an odd place to ask about it so blatantly, but they were not really the sort of people to bother with excessive and transparent euphemisms. Dahler looked at the wallet full of money in approval, and decided that the other was worth telling. Could use a good paying customer - and the English-speaking ones often sold the best. He leant in, making sure not to grab eye-contact with the other seemingly-aged male.

"Lillesand. There's a bar by the harbor. A gate in the courtyard leads down into the basement." He muttered in a low, whispering tone.

Alfred let a small smile flit across his face before it vanished when he nodded and took a large gulp of the bitter ale, giving him a pleasant buzz as he stood. "It was nice to drink with you, sir." He whispered, making his voice sound rough and hoarse as he tipped his wool cap slightly and staggered to the door. He gave the women the man was eyeing one last look before he shook his head softly.

"Fool..." He muttered before he made his way outside to make preparations.

* * *

><p>It had easily passed three in the morning when Dahler stumbled his way out of the old bar's door, scowling deeply at the nipping cold as he pulled his coat closer to him. He squinted as he looked down the streets, trying to decide if the way back to his hotel was worth it while drunk. Dahler chose to brave it as he started down the road, sniffling loudly as the wind hit his face and made his cheeks and nose burn.<p>

"Damn night chills..." He muttered darkly covering his mouth when he yawned, but he abruptly stiffened when heard footsteps behind him.

Dahler quickly turned, the motion making him feel slightly light headed from all the ale he had consumed but his eyes were as alert as they could be. He saw no one. Had he just imagined it? Was he really starting to become that paranoid? He shook his head and tugged his coat closer to him to keep from shivering. It was just the ale, he needed to stop drinking so much at night. It was causing him to hear things. But before he could take another step there they were again, the softest sound of shoes hitting the pavement. But, this time they were behind him again and he quickly turned back around and almost let out a shout.

"You fucker! You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to." It was the man he had spoken with earlier in the bar. Dahler frowned slightly when he noticed the man was keeping his head bowed low, also he wasn't limping and stumbling as much as he had inside. Dahler frowned and glared at the older gentleman, pursing his lips as he gave what he assumed a new client another look over. "What do you want, old man? I'm drunk, tired and just want to get back to my hotel."

His scowl deepened when he saw a lively smirk flash onto the old man's face and lifted his face, those bright blue eyes shining.

Before Dahler could even think, a cold pistol was pressed against the front of his forehead and he had to stop from wetting himself at the sight of the man's bright wide grin and shimmering eyes.

"W-What are you fucking doing?" He screamed.

"Real men don't buy girls, you sick fuck." The old man whispered softly.

There was a loud bang.

Then all became quiet again.

* * *

><p><strong>March 27<strong>**th****. Athens, Greece.**

This part of the job was the most annoying of all, Arthur thought. He looked again at the fake ID he had been granted, and rolled his eyes. Did they have to take concealing his identity so seriously? After Arthur's previous failure in Italy, he had been granted a less serious job - and now he had to play _dress-up_. Again. Only this time, it was with his actual appearance.

Well, 'less serious job'. That actually meant the potential political exploitation of Britain and it all resting on his hands and his ability to deduce the reality of a situation - _but whatever_.

"Thank you, Johnson, for making my eyebrows smaller. I already pluck them, you dick," Arthur said while tossing the ID away, words filled with agitation. He bent his naked upper-half over the bath tub. The showerhead was on, and Arthur started to wash his hair. Clear water went into his wet locks, and chocolate-brown water drizzled out. A few minutes later, Arthur switched the shower off and went to check himself in the mirror. A British brunet stared back at him. His natural hair colour now was disguised for the sake of hiding his true self. Brilliant. The passport photograph and the fake ID looked back at him with the same hair colour.

"I hate you all," he murmured, thinking back to the office, where the bastards that made him go through all this just to make sure he would not be recognised were. He opened a little plastic container up, and prodded the bendy things inside. Contacts. Disguising things. He _swore_ his co-workers were bullying him. First the dress, now he was supposed to be blue eyed too. Brown hair, blue eyes - who came up with this stuff?

"You all need to be sodomised with rakes." He opened his eyelids wide, and popped the contact in. After five minutes, that was - and after almost losing the contact in the sink.

Later, the illusion was fully created. The Briton stared back at himself in the mirror. He was, once again, dressed for business. But it was warm in Greece. For the second time, he was situated in a place that defied his comfort zone. Far too hot and sweaty for him - it was not his style. Could they not send him to somewhere agreeable? Like Scandinavia, or Canada?

He rolled his eyes, and unfolded a pair of slim spectacles. Clear glass, of course. He had acceptable eyesight. Regardless, today was not for running. Today was for investigation. The glasses were slid on, and Arthur checked himself over one more time. Yes. Absolutely non-suspicious. _Really_.

"Let's hope this isn't a waste of time..." Arthur sighed.

* * *

><p>Later, Arthur arrived at the internet café that he was supposed to meet a suspect in.<p>

_Situation:_

_A teenage girl and a few of her male and female friends were kidnapped. The teenage girl was in Greece on a holiday, paid for by her father. Her father, being a member of the cabinet. It is therefore imperative that he investigates the nature of her kidnap, or even murder, and discover whether she is missing for political exploitative purposes, or just because she happened to be pretty and someone found that attractive. The internet café was the last place that police in this country had gathered, so far, that she had been in._

Arthur went into his pocket and checked his ID once more to check his alias. This time his name was Harry Reynolds. Harry - did he_ look_ like a sodding Harry? Oh. Well pinch his nipples and call him Susan (or Harry, as it happened), he was jolly well stuck with it. Arthur approached the desk.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a... Karpusi? Mr. Karpusi?"

The woman smiled happily and nodded, her dark pony tail bobbing as her head moved and her dark brown eyes roamed the cafe.

"Ah, there." She said softly and pointed to one of the corners of the cafe, chuckling softly when she saw the man Arthur was looking for.

The man was slumped over on one of the table's next to his monitor, his back heaving up and down slowly with soft breaths as he continued to sleep. It was surprising how young he looked considering what his age was. His dark brown bangs covering his eyes as he continued to sleep. A small white cat then climbed onto his back and made itself comfortable there.

Arthur looked at the person, blinking with astonishment. The new brunet ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it nervously. This was going to be a lot harder than he previously thought. He was at work and was asleep? This, clearly, was going to be far more work than Arthur had bargained for - and he hoped today would be relatively easy.

He approached the male, and took a seat next to him. He had his notepad out, and a pencil - quicker to write with than pen - and prepared for a difficult interview. Arthur nudged the Grecian, and waited for him to wake up. The cat mewled on his back, and Arthur rolled his eyes and picked the poor thing up so that Mr. Karpusi would not catapult the cat when he awoke.

At the nudge the brown haired man groaned softly and one deep green eye opened to look over at Arthur, sleep still apparent in his gaze as he regarded the Englishman warily. He yawned and sat up, one of his cheeks being very red from laying on it for who knows how long and a small bit of drool on the side of his mouth which he lazily moved to wipe away.

"Mmmm?" The Grecian asked quietly and smiled when his cat that Arthur had moved jumped into his lap and purred happily against his stomach. "What do you need?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow to the Greek male's appearance, wondering if his co-workers really did not mind him slacking off like this. Not only was he being lazy, but he was doing it where the café could fit customers. Such lax European attitude, he thought - as if he was not a European himself. The English did like to mentally separate themselves. It was all _us_, and_ them_. "You are a Mr. Heracles Karpusi, yes? You were working here the day before yesterday?"

"Errmmm… what day is it?" Heracles yawned softly and much to the cat's happiness he started to stroke its back lovingly, smiling when the feline purred loudly and rubbed its head against his palm. The tan man ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully as tried to think back. He chuckled when his cat meowed loudly at him which he looked over at the woman at the desk and smiled, pointing to the cat and his guest. The dark haired woman nodded and quickly went about getting drinks for the three at the desk.

"Do you not know the day?" Arthur said, blinking in surprise. Well, no. Surprise was ridiculous to have, seeing as he was faced with a - frankly - completely _useless_ individual. He described the date - a Friday, which he did not doubt the Grecian would be happy about, if he did not work weekends. Unsurprising laziness. "Look, were you on then or not? I was informed that you were in charge of the shop. Unless I've been mislead."

"Ah. Yes, I own this cafe." Heracles said to clarify and smiled wider when the woman came over with one glass of juice, another of water and then a saucer of milk. She happily placed the milk down on the counter and they both laughed when the cat eagerly jumped up to start lapping at the milk. He thanked her as she walked away and then turned to the Briton with a fond smile, taking a sip of his juice before speaking. "So you mean Wednesday? What about it?"

Arthur pulled a face. Not necessarily a disgusted one, but only because it astounded him that this lazy so-and-so of a person could actually _do_ any enterprising, as well as showing business acumen. He looked at the cat, and wondered if it could run this place better. Oh tourists, how gullible you may be, going to a place like this. Get mobile internet.

"I'm with the British police force. You see, a British girl that was supposedly here on Wednesday was kidnapped. This is where she was last seen, I've heard - and since you were here, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about what you saw on that day. It'll be early evening."

British police force was a good disguise as any – it gave much less importance to his being here. It was a bit illogical, but they could not work any other way of getting the other to give him information. Greek just was not one of his languages, so a Grecian police member was out. Thankfully the twist in physical appearance, too, would protect him further. He did_ not_ want to be identified.

"Yes, of course. Anything to help you." The lazy Grecian nodded and took another sip of his juice before he tilted his head and made his neck crack loudly, then tilted it the other way to produce the same noise. He tried to think back to that night, if anything had seemed different or not right. Nothing really to his knowledge. "Do—Do you have a photo of the girl? So, I may see if I remember correctly?" He rubbed the sleep away from one of his eyes and yawned softly.

The cracks put Arthur off. He never liked people doing that. He felt like they were going to snap their bones or make their joints askew. Arthur went into his coat, and pulled out a photograph of the girl with her friends - intentionally not a photograph with her family.

"This is her," he pointed her out. A pretty, brown haired thing. Pleasant smile. "Though you might recognise the others too. She came from England with them."

They all disappeared together. It just so happened that, honestly, she was the only one important for the matter of _national security_. His job was naturally cruel at times.

"Mmmm... Let me see." Heracles tilted his head as he looked over the photograph of the girl and her friends, trying to remember anything about them. He closed his eyes and thought back to that day. Many different people had come in, which was a surprise due to the fact that many people had laptops and their cell phones nowadays. He opened his eyes and glanced at the picture again, looking at the girl's wrist he remembered something.

"I think… I remember her bracelet." He stated and he pointed down to the small little silver band hanging loosely around the girl's wrist, charms dangling from it that jiggled when they moved. "Yes, I remember that girl. She was very nice and giggly. She came in here with... I think two other girls. A blonde and a brunette." He looked at the picture of the four girls and pointed to the other ones he had seen. "Those two."

This was actually looking promising. Heracles was giving Arthur a confirmation, at least, that they were here. He wrote some notes down, and nodded almost like a therapist would. He was never the best at informal interviews. "Good. Now, could you tell me what time they were here? If there were any suspicious people around on that day as well?"

Heracles made a face that looked like Arthur was asking the impossible and he tried to think when the girls actually walked in, instead of just saying 'night'.

"Uhhh... let me see... They came in after my afternoon nap. Fontini was working that night with me, so she might have seen something I didn't." He glanced over at the girl at the desk and smirked when she laughed at something she was looking at on the computer, most likely fooling around which made him happy. He liked everyone to feel at ease in his place which was why his rules were so lax.

"I could look at the logs of the computers and see which one she logged into..." He offered that to the Briton and gestured over to his own computer which held all the computer history on file.

Arthur frowned.

"I am... not terribly familiar with places like this. But would it be impossible for me to know which websites she accessed during her session? That should be viable, shouldn't it?" Arthur said. They had the same computers for everyone, of course. He might have to see _everyone's_ as well, from that same time period.

The Greek man bent down to turn on his monitor, yawning when the screen came to life. He hummed as he waited for it to load to his desktop and he glanced over at the Briton.

"So... personally, do you think happened to the girl?" Heracles asked just trying to make conversation, but also wondering why this girl was so important that they would send their own officer all the way over here to investigate. He took another sip of his juice and ignored the ding his computer made when opened up his desktop.

"Honestly? I'm half expecting her to just turn up one day, absolutely pissed, and apologising to her parents over never answering the phone while the silly thing sobers up. But I never said that," Arthur said truthfully. He thought it was too early to take notice. But since she was gone, without many traces, he supposed it was his business to wonder why.

"Mmmm..." Heracles continually hummed as he pulled up the files he needed and scrolled through Wednesday's clients. "Her name?" He asked softly as his eyes scanned over the people's names who had used his computers.

He tilted his head when his cat jumped into Arthur's lap and purred loudly, running its head and body across Arthur's stomach covering the Briton's suit in cat hair. Arthur gave an unsavoury look towards the cat, but decided to ignore it for now. Cats were everywhere in Greece, he had noticed on his very first mission here. He lazily stroked the thing, and wiped his fur-filled hand on the not-so comfortable seats after. Did they have to insist on malting everywhere?

"That's the one," Arthur said, pointing at the girl's name on the screen.

The Grecian squinted and leaned in closer to see the name that Arthur was pointing at and then nodded.

"Miss. Christine L." Heracles smiled at the letter she had put down for a last name, this girl truly did not want to be recognized or bring any attention to herself if she just left a letter. He clicked on the file, typing in his pass code so he was able to view the girls history.

"Alright... let me see. She logged on at about 20:12 and was on for a good bit of time..." He scrolled though a bit of the sites and tilted his head. "She checked her e-mail, then went to Tumblr for a few hours before checking her mail again. She chatted online as well."

Tumblr. Tumblr was everywhere. Adventurous as is was, it would be a shame to see is taken down due to those ACTA or SOPA/PIPA acts - Arthur dismissed the thought. It was not his business to worry about things like that. His line of work went far more secretive and invisible than worries about international piracy, whether intentional or not.

Arthur paid attention for anything beyond the ordinary, and tried not to look somewhat relieved at the knowledge that she had chatted online. He could only hope for a clue, for the poor girl's sake. "Chatted? Could you show me, please?"

"Mmmhmm..." The man clicked through the files and pulled up her chat history.

"Okay..." He typed in his override code and was able to pull up the one three conversations she had. "Alright. She had… three conversations. Two of them with only a few words exchanged, but the third one goes on for a good thirty minutes." He opened the files which showed the girls conversation with 'CorgiMorgi', and smirked at their frequent use of internet slang and emoticons.

_**CorgiMorgi:** Hey! How is Greece? You been pulled yet? ; )_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Hey! Also, No! XD But, the guy working here I wouldn't mind if he tried anything LOL._

_**CorgiMorgi:** Ohh? What's he like?_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Umm...Too old for us? XD He looks like he's 24 or something, plus he's sleeping._

_**CorgiMorgi:** Sleeping while at work? Wow they must be really chill about work over there. So, how's it been? Did you see any of the sites?_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Oh, yeah! Went to Athens and of course was a large amount of the stuff we studied last year in college. I also have been gorging myself on cheese and lamb, I swear I almost couldn't fit into my jeans this morning. XDD_

_**CorgiMorgi:** Noo! Now you're making me want greek, and there is no Greek restaurant anywhere around here._

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Lol, sorry. : )_

_**CorgiMorgi:** So, how are the others doing?_

_**CorgiMorgi:** Hello?_

_**CorgiMorgi: **Chris? You there?_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Sorry! DX Someone started talking to me._

_**CorgiMorgi:** Who?_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Lol, I don't know. Some guy that was on another computer. He was pretty cute so I had to give him my full attention of course. ; )_

_**CorgiMorgi:** Stranger Danger!_

_**SunshineNdaisies:** XDD I really doubt he is any danger. It looks like /I/ could take him on, plus I think he's French. He had that kind of accent, that or Belgian. I always get those two confused. XD_

_**CorgiMorgi:** Yeah, they do sound very similar._

_**SunshineNdaisies:** Alright. Well, I better go. V and Jen aren't going to wait forever, I have recived like 8 texts from them already. XD Love you, dear!_

_**CorgiMorgi:** Same same! Bye!_

As Arthur scrolled through, he smirked at the girl's blatant appreciation for the Grecian. He had to give it to her, he was an attractive one, but nothing that would really steal Arthur's eye. He briefly recalled an attractive American laughing under the brisk and dry Italian sun, before he forced the thought out of his head. No time to be forlorn about past has-beens now. That was for private time only.

The conversation was interesting, and gave him a lead. A male that had been speaking to her? Arthur wrote something down furiously in his notes, before he looked over at the Greek male. "I'd like to have a copy of those conversations, if possible. Do you have any surveillance here, at all? Cameras?"

Heracles nodded and clicked on the print option, and then bit his lip at the Briton's second request. "Ummm... We don't have any real surveillance, due to the fact that anything here is pretty much plugged into the walls and would be very obvious if someone tried to steal it."

He sighed and scratched at his elbow for a minute as he thought, then clicked out of Christine's files and looked at the others who were logged in around the time she was. "I can get you the list of names of the people that were on when she was? Maybe if I check who logged off at the time she mentioned someone talking to her?"

Arthur lit up a little bit more, letting a contented expression befall his face. At least if there was no surveillance, he could have the names (or identities) of the people that had been here in the café as well. It was uncertain how likely it was that the kidnapper had been here, but it was still something useful to go on. He just hoped that the names he would be given would lead him_ somewhere_. "If you could."

For the next three or four hours, Arthur collected as much information as he could.

At the time of Christine being here, a total of 49 minutes altogether, she was joined by a total of seven other people. Two, he crossed out immediately as suspects, knowing that they were her friends and also missing (though he saved their conversations just in case they pulled a double whammy and turned out to be plotting against their friend. Very unlikely).

The remaining five included a generally French-ish name, a Russian (they used the Cyrillic alphabet in conversation - he asked Heracles to translate, but he told him it was not Greek), and by the sound of their names, two Eastern or Central Europeans. The fight for translation was now _on_.

An American, too, had been here. His heart gave a leap, instantly recalling that all so important person again. He failed to keep his emotions out of his job for long. The sight of the name, _Fred_, had excited him. But in the end, there were millions of Americans. The conversation was bog-standard and sounded nothing like his American, except the vague mention every now and then about something being 'awesome'. He had closed it down and dismissed them with a heavy chest.

He looked down at his notes, and remembered how he had circled and underlined one particular word several times from the second a Frenchman was mentioned by Christine. Or to be accurate, one particular name. As soon as he had seen it in the conversation, Arthur knew exactly where he was to look.

That was the advantage of being in the job for so long, after all. He had connections. He knew just who would (or wouldn't - he was such a difficult character. Slippery like an eel) help him.

_Francis_.

But first…

* * *

><p><strong>April 15th<strong>**. Budapest, Hungary.**

Budapest had to be one of his favorite places to visit, mostly because of its architecture and the breathtaking sights. Day or night.

People always thought he was an idiot because he used less than stellar grammar and did not think he needed to spend all his free time reading some giant book. Everyone seemed to forget that he had majored in aerospace engineering, and could defeat anyone in a random useless facts quiz. Like that cat pee glowed when you put it under a black light, or that babies are born without kneecaps.

He smirked as he sipped his coffee.

But, anyway back to Budapest. He loved it. He mostly loved the Budapest Castle, because no matter how much he loved his country he would always love how Europe had amazing castles. He sometimes wished that America had royalty just so there could be a castle or a palace to visit, but then he remembers the whole reason why his country never had a monarchy and he thinks his ideas are stupid.

Alfred pulled the scarf around his neck a bit tighter. It was not even cold, the scarf was just there for looks. Much like the rest of his outfit. Black cardigan, white V-neck t-shirt, the most expensive pair of jeans he had ever bought and a nice new pair of black converse.

He grinned into his cup slightly as he blushed a bit. He had always dressed nice for Liz, he didn't know why. Jasmina had always said that he had a small crush on the pretty woman, but he always quickly denied it, trying to assure his wife that she was the only one for him even though he knew Jas was not in the least threatened.

Liz was just really cool.

She had been born and raised in Hungary. Her Grandfather had been part of the secret police and after they had been shut down she followed in her Grandfather's and father's footsteps by becoming one of the best cops Hungary could ever ask for. Which was why he had been paired with her the few times he had come to Hungary. She was one of the best there was. She knew how to keep on task and figure things out but she also knew when to just chill out.

Plus, she wasn't bad looking either. Which is why that Austrian guy was quick to snatch her up, which sadly only ended in a messy divorce. Alfred sighed as he glanced around the streets, waiting for a glimpse of that light brown hair and large brown eyes.

When she appeared, past the tall lamp on the corner of the street, she was glamorous as ever. Glamorous, that is, in an entirely unintentional way. Her hair was pulled right back into a messy bun to keep out of her face. She was relatively tomboyish in physique, but that only added to her charm - a slim, slender woman that suited uniforms as if they were made for her.

Instead of a skirt, as many ladies might have preferred, she wore trousers that purposely accentuated her hips and a buttoned up blouse kept relatively neatly fitted beneath a black, fitted jacket. Smart, indeed. She wore herself like she was not fragile or quaint, but a force to be _reckoned with_.

The illusion of grandeur broke when she saw Alfred, and gave him a smile like he was a long-lost relative, or a brother to her. Once she had approached, she opened her arms out welcomingly. "Alfred! Welcome!"

"Liz!" He quickly tossed his cup in the closest trash bins before walking into her arms and wrapping his long, large arms around her. He knew people gave them odd looks as he lifted her up off her toes and spun them around a bit. With a laugh he set her down on her feet easily and grinned down at her, keeping his hands on her shoulders to remain in close contact.

"How are you! How's it been?" He looked at her messy bun and chuckled, remembering how long her hair was. "It's been like forever!"

The lady Alfred had come to know so well gave him a smile that reached ear to ear, having not seen him for such a long time. "It has! I'm well, the divorce went well. Happily. I'm happy, Alfred," she declared enthusiastically.

She was no longer wearing a ring on her finger, but there was still a tan line around where it had been - whiter skin at just that point. Liz turned him in front of her, making him stand still while she got a good look at him. "Let me see you! You've grown. Stronger arms, I see. Oh Alfred, you are as handsome as ever. How are you holding up?"

He could feel his smile grow even wider when she commented on his looks. Last they had seen each other he was still wearing his retainer from the braces he had in high school and his hair had been way to short for his liking thanks to just getting out of the service.

"Thanks. You too. You look amazing! Who knew divorce could make someone look like a million bucks!" He chuckled, only joking about her recent separation due to the fact that she had said she was happy about it. His grin dimmed to a soft smile as he played with the hem of his cardigan."I'm doing pretty good. I got a raise recently because of working my ass off, so that's pretty awesome. And I finished that stupid mandatory therapy they made me go to."

He had hated talking to a stranger about Jasmina's death, about his feelings and thoughts on it. He would have rather talked to Mattie or someone he knew actually cared and had known her. He shrugged slightly and smiled at Liz again.

"But I'm doing really awesome now. Even had my first one night stand. With a guy." He gave a cheeky look, knowing she would love to hear the details on it.

Predictably, she lit up. Elizabeta, despite not being in the LGBT community herself, had always been supportive of it. Some of her best friends were homosexual, after all. Elizabeta clapped her hands together excitedly.

"Oh! Who was the lucky sir? Was he a handsome one?" She cooed over him. Then, she touched his arm, spinning him about to make sure the male American was looking at her directly. "Did he hurt you? Or did you hurt him, or? Oh, sorry, I'll let you catch up!"

"Er...W-well!" Alfred blushed brightly at her questions, for the first time he was actually shy to talk to her about his personal life. He coughed slightly into his palm and looked down at the sidewalk as he tried to figure out how to explain it. "Yes. He... he was handsome."

He really was, even those massive things the guy called eyebrows could not deter from Arthur's looks.

"Apparently he's a British fashion designer. Oh, yeah. He was British." He laughed at how lame he sounded when he finished that sentence, and he dug into his pocket and pulled out a crinkled and folded piece of paper. "Here look... I kinda went creeper on him and took his picture before I left."

He unfolded the paper and showed Liz the picture of the sleeping Brit, bed-head and all. He looked down at the picture himself warmly. "Please don't give me flack about taking his picture. I already know how stalkerish it was."

Elizabeta gave an excitable gasp, and made him hold up the picture so the light was right for her to see properly. "Oh, look at that... O-oh my, Alfred. He's a cutie. Look at you, snagging a beautiful one! He's sort of effeminate, isn't he? Those cheek bones!" She studied his features; from the blond hair, to the long lashes, to the slim frame, to the happy but lax expression. An elated noise emitted from her, and she let Alfred have his arm back.

Alfred chuckled softly and nodded as he folded the picture back up and slid it back into his pocket safely. "Yeah, he was pretty cool. Too bad it was a one night stand ya know?" He smiled slightly and shook his head, rolling his shoulders a bit and looking down at Liz.

"So, what have you been up to? Catching all of Hungary's criminal's one handed like the bad ass chick you are?" Alfred grinned widely knowing how well Liz could handle a gun, or any object for that matter. He turned and started walking, expecting her to follow and keep up.

"Criminals, in Hungary?" Elizabeta cooed, acting surprised and offended at Alfred's phrasing. "With me around? I don't possibly know what you mean!" She hurried after him, having to walk a big faster considering he was a big lad with big paces. She looked him over admirably, enjoying how tall he had gotten. Good. Very good. "Do you mind if I cut to what-are-you-here-for?"

"Wow, so much for catching up with an old friend. Should have known you would want to cut to the chase." Alfred laughed loudly and shook his head. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and fiddled around with the small gold ring inside, it always helped him think clearly.

"I'm here because of some... information... I read that said you have been a bit swamped with missing persons. Missing girls, to be correct?" He sighed and stopped, turning to face her with a serious look on his face.

"Okay... as always everything we discuss should never be said, right?" He tilted his head and waited for her to agree.

When she did he continued.

"The US has me tracking a human trafficking ring. So far, about four American girls have vanished after going overseas. I have been in contact with a few other countries too, and they have been missing girls as well. Though some were just kidnapped off the street in the other countries." He looked Liz in the eye. "What can you tell me about these missing girls?"

"I thought we should get the details done, and then you could buy me dinner as a friendly courtesy," she said softly, though when the American explained his reasons for being there, Elizabeta's face darkened with recognition. She understood what Alfred was referring to, and she was up to speed. Hence why she was a good cop. "Fourteen girls from Hungary. Different circumstances, some tourists, some not. I did notice that they were all brunette. I don't know if that is anything in particular. Different jobs, no real connection as far as we can tell between them. Ages... say, 15 to 20?"

Alfred scowled when he heard how young some of the girls that had been taken were. "Jesus... fifteen? That's around the same age as my little sister."

His father had remarried after his parents' divorce to a beautiful, younger, Mexican woman. Within months they had Gabby who was turning fifteen this July. He felt sick and angry at the people who would take these girls against their will and sell them for profit. What was wrong with these people?

"I have been in contact with the Ukrainian government and they have lost seventeen girls in the past eight months. Most of them around seventeen." Alfred chewed on his lip as he thought. He had been able to get information about one of the big auctions that was going down in about a month from one of the sellers he had tracked in his own country. This auction he planned on attending himself. "Do you know if these girls were travelling alone or with others?"

"They were 15 to 20, Alfred. Would you really expect them to be travelling alone? They are just young, poor, healthy girls that happened to have been abducted," Elizabeta sighed, though she could not understand how they could have gone missing. What had happened? She wouldn't have had the confidence to go it alone in a foreign country at that age, poor things. "I'm not sure what information I could give you. I'd tell you the street names and so on, though I don't know it by memory. You'd have to get our higher-ups to speak to my higher-ups to get at it."

Alfred frowned deeply, wishing that Liz could have given him more to go on. But, she had done the best she could and for that he was thankful. "Well, alright. If you think of anything else you know my number and e-mail and yatta yatta." He then smiled down at her and offered his arm.

"So, where does the lady wish to dine? What is she in the mood for? Steak? Chicken? Please god don't say fish." He could only handle smoked salmon, the other fishes in the sea could keep swimming and he would be happy.

"Ooh, _well_ Alfred..." Elizabeta said sweetly, hooking his arm within hers. That young but knowledgeable glance regarded him, and she urged him onwards towards the main body of the city. They had a lot of catching up to do, and she especially wanted to hear about his first time after the death of his wife. "You're paying, so you tell me!"

Alfred laughed as they walked, being able to catch a hint of her perfume when the wind blew. He felt happy, and that was a feeling he had missed. "Well, steak it is then!" He exclaimed loudly as they made their way towards the many restaurants in the city.

Just then something caught his eye making him come to a dead halt, causing Liz to jerk to a stop as well.

"Alfred, what?" She complained loudly, but Alfred was far too focused on the retreating back of a man in a dark green suit.

All of the sudden his mind was taken back – right back then to Italy, when he met _him_ for the first time. The build of the figure was the same, that slim waist and that slightly plumper pair of hips. He swore he saw a flash of _his_ green eyes. He breathed slowly, his heart starting to hammer harshly against his chest. When the man turned slightly, Alfred's heart stopped.

"Arthur..." Those green eyes, the slight turn up of the nose and the huge eyebrows.

"_Holy shit_." He whispered and Liz cried out when he tore his arm from her grasp and started to run towards the man.

"Hey!" He called out, many giving him weird looks as he ran towards the man who was continuing his stroll down the street and then turned a corner. Alfred frowned and quickly kicked it into high gear, rounding the same corner and searching desperately for any sign of the man he had been chasing.

But there was nothing.

Alfred scowled and kicked the side of the building next to him in frustration and he could hear Liz running up behind him yelling his name. When she finally caught up with him she was gasping for air and was yelling about how he couldn't just take off like that and asking what was wrong with him.

He continued to stare right ahead into the mass of people walking on the street, wishing he could see that sly expression and deep forest eyes. "Nothing… I just... I thought I saw..." He frowned and bowed his head.

"Nothing."

* * *

><p><strong>April 16th<strong>**. Puteaux/Paris, France.**

Puteaux, a commune in the western suburbs of Paris. An interesting little place, with relatively short but thin buildings – or at least surrounding the plaza he was approaching. Honestly, as Arthur walked briskly towards his destination, he was almost certain that it looked peculiarly similar to Brighton. It was the sort of thing, also, that you could imagine having seen action there within the Second World War. The northern expanse of Puteaux housed La Défense, the location of the grande arche, visible only just from where Arthur was standing, waiting for his contact.

It had been a difficult decision to come to.

He had a history with him. Francis, this was. He was such an awful individual, a slimy character but wise and intelligent both beyond expectations - especially, as his slightly overly nationalistic mind might have come up with, being a Frenchman. However, he was a useful contact and he was exactly what Arthur needed at this time. He just wished that he knew another French source that could be fully trusted.

Of course, it would be perfectly fine to go to an English translator - though he would not pick up the clues, the unspoken dialect, the power behind certain words. That was Francis's cue.

They would have met at a poncy expensive restaurant in the middle of Paris, but he deliberately chose a place that was a little bit out of the way. Nothing too suspicious or small either. He had to be safe. There were a few hotels here, hidden like in a bad film, but mostly it was residential. His trendier clothing was out; a slim fitting black coat and his nicest pair of shoes and trousers for a start. Damn Francis, why did he pressure him, naturally, to make an impression?

He sighed, and sat on a bench in the middle of the large plaza near the fountains and the huge town hall - French flags strewn all over the monumental place. Keen eyes scanned the area, as he tucked into a small macaroon he had purchased from the nearby Monoprix.

Of course, France was not his first port of call before he came here.

From Greece, he had two major options. Go to France and find Francis for the translation, or head into the middle to east of Europe in search for a different lead. His search had taken him briefly to Serbia, and Romania, and then further North to Hungary.

It was in Hungary when he had realised someone was _behind him_. Chasing him, even. He had ran soon as he realised. His security might have been compromised. To protect himself, he left the that part of Europe temporarily to try shake the shadow off of his trail.

This was a dangerous business. He'd find himself dead any second.

It wasn't long before Arthur felt warm breath ghost over his ear, the smell wonderfully minty. It pierced through Arthur's troubled thoughts, and the Briton gave a murmur of relief.

"Bonjour, mon petit ange. Have you been waiting long for me?" The French accent was thick, and the words made long and sultry sounding. The man smiled softly and moved in front of Arthur easily, his long legs making it easy for him. As always, Francis was dressed finely. Dark jeans wrapped tightly around those thin legs and hugged everything perfectly, white the gray V-neck short sleeved shirt showed off his pale if rather hairy and lean arms. The scarf he wore around his neck was perfectly placed and did not seem to move from its spot even as Francis bobbed about.

Even the man's hair was perfectly groomed. His light blonde hair had been pulled back into a neat pony tail, leaving a few strands to frame his face. Wide blue eyes were alert and awake as he looked over Arthur's figure with a teasing smile, that small beard on his chin still remaining from the last time the two had seen each other. "You are looking very well, ma douce. Do tell me it's because you are so excited to see moi."

"Oh, me? Make an effort for you?" Arthur snorted and purposely rolled his eyes, trying to dismiss Francis's suspicion that Arthur had intentionally tried for him. Of course, that was exactly what he had done. He just did not want Francis to know it. It was always flaunting of one another's abilities and happiness whenever they were seen together. Of all the French government contacts to have, Francis certainly was not the most friendly and hospitable, in Arthur's particular opinion. "Never - these are clearly my tattiest things. I wouldn't bother for you."

"Oh? What happened to that beautiful dark green silk button down I bought you a few years back? Surely you still fit in it, unless... you have gained some weight?" There was that judgemental smile of his. Arthur was one of the thinnest men he had seen and he always teased him about his bony shoulders and arms and then the rather round _extrémité arrière_. Though Arthur did always get offended over any part of him being called remotely plump. The Frenchman moved to cup Arthur's face and turn it from one side to the other, looking over the man very intently. "Mmmm... Your cheeks do seem a bit rounder. Ah, but do not despair. It suits you well, makes me want to court you all over again."

Arthur smacked Francis's hand away again, gritting his teeth to unintentionally show his distaste. "Really? The scales seem to tell me that I've lost weight rather than gained. You would have noticed I was thinner, I would have thought. Did your eyes finally turn into frog spawn? They look hideous as ever."

Francis held a hand to his chest, over his heart, and gasped softly.

"You wound me! I have never done anything but love and care for you and you throw insults like that into my face." He sighed and moved into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs elegantly and moving an arm around Arthur's shoulder.

"So, why did you want to meet with me? Are you lonely?" He twirled a piece of hair near Arthur's ear and smiled lovingly. "Come with me tonight. We shall go to a Ballet, have some late dinner..." He stroked the shell of Arthur's ear softly. "It will do you some good."

Arthur ducked his head back, determined not to fall to Francis's obvious flirts and pampers. He knew Francis's actions by now, and frankly he was having none of it. A small part of him, though, wanted to dart forwards into the touch. He had tasted fresh fruits, with his one night stand with the college student from America in Italy. It was natural that his body would crave similar attention. He would not give in.

Yet.

"Actually, Francis," Arthur said, clearing his throat. He quickly checked the area, before he looked back up to the other to show his seriousness. "I am here on business. I have a certain case I would like your help with. Although dinner might be nice, so long as you are paying."

"Now, Arthur..." Francis only used the Briton's actual name when he was being serious. "You know I cannot give out information on my country just because your pretty lips ask for it." He looked over at the families walking about in the lovely late spring weather, a few beautiful women with their husbands or boyfriends. "I am not just a Senator because of my good looks, you know? I would also like to keep my job."

"No, you misunderstand me. For once, the British government is not trying to screw the French government over," Arthur said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as if it was just ridiculous that such a thing would ever actually happen. They had a passing rivalry, yes. Did not mean they were at each other's throats all the time, politically or otherwise. "I need translation. As much information as you can manage to give me."

Francis blinked for a moment and looked back at Arthur. "Oh." He was silent for a moment before smiling a true smile. "I'm flattered that you brought it to me and didn't try to translate it yourself." He rested his hand lightly on Arthur's knee and was quiet for a minute before nodding. "Yes. Of course I will help you, petit lapin. What is it you need me to translate?"

"It's a conversation log. From a messaging service. Something like msn, I didn't pay attention to what it was. I've got the script but we need to have my laptop to access it. So, you're going to treat me to a nice dinner, and then we are going to go to my room. Just in case that my security in investigating the case has gotten compromised at all - you know the trouble, Francis. Agents are always in danger," he sighed, remembering a few cases of some of previous agents getting killed during investigations. Did not happen very often, but they did always seem to be unexpected. With him potentially being shadowed, he was more cautious than usual. "...We'll pretend it's a date, then you're staying the night at mine. Understood?"

Francis raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Arthur's suggestion and he chuckled as he let his head lean down against the Briton's shoulder.

"Oh, yes. Let's '_pretend_' to have a date. Will you also be pretending that you are having a wonderful time?" Francis smirked and sat up, cupping Arthur's chin and turning the man to look at him. "Well, that is all well. At least let me change for tonight, I can't very well take you out in these rags." He knew very well he looked amazing, but a little more priming and him the right dress pants he could be perfect.

"Until tonight then, ma douce." He placed a fleeting butterfly kiss on the Briton's lips before he gracefully pushed himself up and was walking away.

As Francis kissed him and moved away, Arthur stared at Francis's retreating figure and found himself diving into thought. Did he really want to do this? He tried to convince himself constantly that it was Francis's skills that he needed to give him a hand, but now he was not as sure.

He did not have one night stands, often, really. Those that he did have were comforting, because it meant that he still had it - that he was still attractive, that he was still in the game despite his distant and chaotic job choice. That his appeal was not over. It was nice, and pleasurable for a small amount of time; and that was the point of it. No strings attached, no nonsense, just some sex and that was it, the _end_ of it.

Why was _he_ different?

He felt like he had seen him everywhere. From the plane back home, to the hotel in Greece or the internet log in the net café, or again when he walked past _anything _that reminded him of him. American companies, or accents, or blond hair or glasses, or _friendly faces_. It was like he was obsessed with finding the links to that man - though never consciously till he realised that the hints were there.

He did remember his past one night stands, on occasion. Little scents that smell like them, or smiles, or something someone says. But this was so different. He would never admit to falling for such a silly liar. Who would pretend they were Italian in Italy, for Christ sakes? With such vigour and believability? It was just insane, and Arthur found himself distrusting Alfred more and more as he thought about him. Was that even his real name? He doubted it. Maybe he should not have given his own.

Worrying about seeing him made him think about him - and then thinking about him made him think about him even more. The lips that fitted perfectly, and the gentle thrusts that sent him into that soft set of sheets, not to mention the scent of pine and_ perfection_. He was annoyingly handsome too. The sort of handsome that the more sexually proud of people would boast about having experienced.

He was so stupid for letting him go without trying to see if they could make it work. It was a huge regret, now that he thought about it. But what could have ever happened? The American in Italy and the Englishman in _everywhere else_.

This – this was why he needed Francis right about now.

It was not the first time they had spent time in one another's company. It was familiar, it was something Arthur knew - another regret - that he enjoyed. Francis made him feel good, though they would never actually _be_ with each other. Just like he and the mysterious American that was long gone. The one that got away.

Maybe he was a little love starved. Stressed, and wanted to know that he was not making a mistake being in his profession. Maybe Francis would take him again, and, that beautiful American would become long, _long_ gone. From his mind as well as otherwise. Yes, that was why he was here. Because he knew what he needed. A friend, a more-than-a-friend, and a little bit of comfort.

He bowed his head, sighing to himself. The gigantic clock, large red numbers projected onto a building nearby, but also explained that it was now 12C. Much cooler than Italy. Perhaps it was the heat that had gotten to his head. Maybe he just needed a well earnt - or not, since he was going downhill _fast_ - break.

Francis, he hoped, would give him the answers. As long as he dangled his head in the lion's mouth.

* * *

><p>That night it seemed Francis was pulling every ace he had up his sleeve. They went into Paris that night and went to see the Moscow Ballet company perform their wonderful version of Coppélia. The seats were fabulous of course, where you could easily see the brilliant designs of the costumes and the artistic way of make-up on the dancers.<p>

Francis would glance to see if the Briton was enjoying himself every so often, and at one moment was bold enough to reach for Arthur's hand and intertwine their fingers. Their hands stayed together for the rest of the show, only parting to give praise to the dancers at the end by clapping.

He put his arm around the Briton's waist as they walked down the sidewalks of the beautiful city, street lights and stars twinkling brightly. He smiled as he pulled Arthur along to his favorite restaurant, easily getting a table and showing off how well he could please Arthur by telling him to order anything the man wanted.

"It's not like we are in England," Francis reminded him as they looked the menu over. "We have flavor here, mon ami."

"Oh don't you start again. Our supposed bad food is purely a myth," Arthur responded unfavourably, though ordered a lovely little fish dish with asparagus and some ridiculous sauce he would never know what really was. He had his shoulders slumped, but he facially managed to show interest and discipline.

Externally, it was a date. Internally, Arthur was rather a wreck. It had been a lovely night. The ballet was spectacular, and the restaurant they were in was quaint and attractive. Nothing too flashy, but trustily enjoyable.

Yet, somehow, he felt... empty.

It was times like this that Arthur remembered that he and Francis were not ever anything more than just a pair of fucking flirts - quite literally sometimes. No relationship other than a friendly one, to speak of. If that. Arthur would not change that. They were sex, and business. Nothing more.

"Could I ask you something, Francis? Just out of general interest," he murmured, before he leant in a little. "Have many girls gone missing, recently?"

Francis tilted his head when Arthur continued to be serious and closed off to him, and questioned him about the population of women. He took a sip of his wine slowly and then placed the glass carefully on the table, looking at Arthur with completely blank look. "Yes, actually." He looked over to the side and sighed softly.

"About three girls went missing this month, in fact. But we found them easily. I just looked in my bed." A small smirk moved its way onto Francis's face and he glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye to see the man's reaction.

Arthur pulled a face of disgust and rolled his eyes skyward, as he always found himself doing in Francis's company. Was there anything else Francis did other than flirt, eat lunch, and piss about at work? "Clever, _so very clever_. I am being serious, Francis. Have you noticed any ladies that have gone missing?"

Francis sighed and moved to sit up a bit more when the Briton made it obvious he wasn't in a teasing mood. "My goodness. Always so prickly and harsh, makes me wonder what I even see in you." Francis took another slow sip of his wine before answering the man's question.

"In the past..." He looked off to the side, trying to remember correctly and nodded to himself when he thought he found the right answer. "I believe in the past eight months there has been two people gone missing, and yes, one was a girl. The other was a small boy." Francis shivered slightly and frowned when he looked over at Arthur. "I never want to have to see parent's mourn over their child like that again, too much heart ache."

"_Two_?" Arthur frowned, knowing that that was one of the smallest figures he had come across. He rubbed his hair, feeling the darkish dirty-blond locks. His temporary dye had mostly faded but had not quite returned him to his straw colour yet. "A small boy... that's odd. The reason why I'm asking is that there have been similar cases. Never a male, though."

Could just be a regular kidnap. No jumping to conclusions Arthur, and do not feel sentimental for the poor child. You have a daughter of a politician to find.

"Similar cases?" Francis frowned and tried to think through all the recent worries of the other countries he had read through. "Would this have anything to do with the man in Parliament? The one whose daughter seemed to have run away? Or at least that's what I heard from the grapevine. Oh. Also the American's are in a bit of a foul mood as well. Three girls had gone missing in the span of two months, and we know how quickly they can jump the gun when something happens to one of their own."

"What?" Arthur looked up, surprised at something. Oh, he should have known. He hadn't been in England for a while. About time that the media picked up on something. "Don't tell me the media have put their own spin on things again. Someone must have leaked. That's classified information. We had someone preparing an official statement," Arthur sighed and collapsed his head in his hands.

Still, a run-away daughter was more politically sound than a kidnapped one. They would not show weakness. He needed to get her soon as possible.

Francis watched as Arthur bemoaned the lack of secretiveness his own country possessed and he smiled as he let a hand move to touch those dark blonde strands. He fingered the shaggy cut for a few minutes before he purred happily and spoke.

"I miss your true hair color. It was always very beautiful the way it clashed with your dark brows." He let his hand wander down to stroke Arthur's ear softly, smiling as he leaned in closer to the Briton who still had his face covered. "Mon doux... Look at me."

"You're _flirting_ with me," Arthur noted, being able to read Francis's language too easily. As Francis touched him, he made no move to smack that hand away. He wanted to remember what it felt like for someone else to have their fingers on him. Alfred was just but a fleeting occurrence.

So why did Francis touching him not feel the same?

It did not ignite his skin or make his cheeks burn like molten magma, or his heart race. He liked the attention, but, there was some twinkle in Alfred's eyes that Arthur had never found before. They say that it's a lie that you will one day meet 'the one' or your soul mate. Arthur hated that term. He was a realist, he would not believe in that. He was human, he would live and die with no true 'love' in-between. But Alfred... _Alfred _was the closest thing so far to him proving himself completely wrong, and that was the most powerful, most jarring thing that he had felt since the discovery of his differed sexuality.

And he let the bastard go.

"This date is meant to be pretend." He reminded Francis as he scooted closer - trying to maintain himself. Trying to deny that he wanted someone that had gone, or that he was loving someone. He knew the end of_ loving_ something, and someone, so clearly already, after all. He questioned why the concept existed.

_(There was once a ring. Right there on his finger. Now it was just a paler patch than the rest of his already pale skin. Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland had more in common than anyone would realise)._

"Do you really want it to be pretend?" Francis asked softly, his voice almost a whisper as he let his warm fingers slide down Arthur's cheek and rest on his neck. Light blue eyes gazed deeply into emerald green as he reached over to take the Briton's hand with his free one.

"You look so sad, Mon cher. Let me help you…" He intertwined their fingers, Francis's warmth comforting and nice to Arthur's cold hands. The French man leaned down and pressed his lip's softly to Arthur's, not caring that he was showing affection in a public place and it seemed neither did anyone else. Only a few people glanced their way before they went back to what they were doing.

"Mm-phhf..." Arthur had been taken aback by the kiss, and he was unsure if he welcomed it. It just stopped him in his tracks, and he only concentrated on the feel of French lips pressing against his own. His mind, all so cruelly, reminded him that familiar American lips were more taut and more passionate and demanding, and Arthur liked that. Arthur leant forwards to let the kiss deepen, _only to stop that voice in his head from being right._

He was an agent. He could not afford to do something as silly as _miss someone_.

Francis let his fingers slide into Arthur's hair a bit more, the finely cut nails scratching the Briton's scalp softly in order to have the man relax. Francis hummed happily against Arthur's lips when he felt the Briton deepen the kiss, tilting his head to the side for better access.

Francis stopped abruptly when he heard something crash off in the other side of the restaurant and a woman scream out for help. He pulled away from Arthur's lips, but kept their hands together as he stood up and looked over at the trouble best he could. There was a crowd forming around one of the tables and from what Francis could make out a rather large man was convulsing on the floor violently.

"Qu'est-ce?" Francis whispered softly as the woman in a fine red silk dress continued to scream over the man's slowly stilling body.

Everyone could tell the man was dead when the paramedics finally arrived, hoisting the corpse up onto a gurney and tried to pull the woman away from what he could only assume was now her dead husband. Francis frowned deeply and then pulled his wallet out from his pocket and dropped a very generous amount onto the table.

"Come, Arthur. Let's go." He said, grasping Arthur on the shoulder and checking to see if he was alright.

Arthur looked back at the scene with revelation and a hint of recognition. Had he not known any better, he might have thought it was another agent that had put poison in the man's food. The paramedic mentioned nothing about a stroke or a heart attack. He briefly remembered when he thought he was being tailed back in Hungary, and realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. Was that meant to be for him? Or a warning?

He looked up, and for a split second, Arthur thought he saw the shimmering of lenses and light blue eyes. He gaped and found himself taking a step forward as if to follow - as if to chase the light that his life had been missing. Something he had dangled in his face, but was not fast enough to grab.

Reality crashed back down, and Arthur realised that after he had blinked, the sight was gone. He must have been seeing things.

He was getting paranoid.

Arthur then remembered that he was with company. While he had seen death before, (heck, he had killed before, though not without abundances of paperwork to explain why), he remembered that Francis had not. He'd have to take care of him.

He nodded, and tried to move the two of them along. "My hotel..." he murmured.

Francis nodded slowly and followed Arthur out of the restaurant, only glancing back to watch the woman start to sob quietly while a few waiters tried to get her something to calm her. "Yes... Let's go."

* * *

><p>Merely an hour later, Francis growled gutturally, pushing the Briton against the wall of the hallway in the hotel and kissing him deeply. His hands roaming down to Arthur's belt and quickly undid the buckle as he tugged the smaller man's shirt out from his pants.<p>

"Arthur," He breathed softly against the man's lips before devouring them again, one hand sneaking up under Arthur's shirt to tweak one of the slowly hardening nubs.

Arthur grinded against Francis as the Frenchman slipped that belt from his person. He tried not to groan but failed as he used the leg hooked over Francis's to grind their crotches together - hardening in anticipation. He tipped his head back, breaking the kiss momentarily but feeling Francis lick and kiss his neck. "A-ah..."

He suppressed the images of things come to pass. The nerves in his stomach. How much he would prefer American, strong but firm rather than slender but hairy and groping. He fumbled to find the key, and rubbed the key card through the slot.

He needed to forget. He _had_ to forget. Alfred was history. Arthur nipped Francis's ear, and breathed hot, airy breath into his ear. "Fuck me," Arthur breathed. "Fuck me, A… no, _Francis_."

Why could he just not get away?

Francis hummed happily at the request and started to unbutton Arthur's shirt while he pushed the door open when the light to the door's lock turned green. He heaved Arthur inside with a deep kiss, tongue delving deep into the Briton's mouth.

"Of course, Cher." He purred as his hands slid into Arthur's pants while his foot moved to kick the door closed.

* * *

><p>Hidden away in the darkness of the hotel room where no one could see Arthur cry out for more, he thought of bright cornflower blue eyes, golden blonde hair and a smile like the sun itself.<p>

Francis's thrusts were incessant, and Arthur tipped his head back, sighing as his body slowly gathered pleasure in his gut. Though it was neither quick, nor strong enough. His moans were never as loud as he had remembered them to be.

He closed his eyes, and he could remember every detail. The pace, the hands, the _smile_. That smile, gosh, was there anything more handsome?

The one that got away.

Alfred, where are you?

_Alfred…_

* * *

><p><strong>The description of Puteaux was a little bit more detailed because unlike the other places, one of us has actually been there! Blimey.<strong>

**Hints of things to come. Tiny mentions that you might have slipped your eyes over and not noticed as anything in particular, but they are there.**

**We know what we're up to now, and we are hoping to whirl you into a world of contradictions, unpredictability, and controversy.**

**So here's the main question.**

**Which ones are on the good side?**

**- Tenkuno and DS.**

_(Note: The next chapter might be a little bit later, as DS has a LOT of coursework for her university course that she is supposed to be doing but is writing this right here instead. Oops)._


	3. Chapter 3

**Tenkuno**: So, Wow. DS informs me it's been three months since our last update on this thing. I'm so sorry! The delay was really all my fault because I suck at multitasking. For all you loyal people who have actually stuck to this story, thank you and here is another chapter for your trouble.

(_She lies, it's my fault. Silly university exams)._

* * *

><p><span>Chasing Shadows: Chapter Three<span>

* * *

><p><strong>April 17<strong>**th****. Unknown.**

She groaned softly as her eyes fluttered open only to be met with darkness. She coughed softly when she tried to take a deep breath, breathing in a lot of dust of some sort. Her head felt like it was splitting open with the headache that was pounding at her temples and in the back.

She could remember bits and pieces.

They had used a stun gun, she was pretty sure, to get her into the car without much trouble. The rest was a weird blur of being stripped and injected with things that made her feel amazing but awful after a few hours. There were other girls around her, some crying and others so strung out that you would think they were dead because of their lack of movement. But now…

She tried to move her arms to feel around where she was, but found that they restricted quite a bit. Whatever she was in was very small, apparently only just big enough for her entire body to fit inside. When she raised her arms they quickly came in contact with something stiff and hard. She could only hold back a small sob as her mind quickly figured out where she was.

She was in a box.

A box that was just big enough to squeeze her body into.

At that she let out a loud sob.

A coffin.

She raised shaky hands up to the ceiling of the wooden box and pressed on it best she could. It wouldn't budge, only giving a soft creak at her effort. Tears leaked from her eyes as she realized it was nailed shut as she gave another push only for it to give another soft groan but nothing else. "Oh please…" She whispered softly, begging to no one.

She tried to glance around, turning her head both ways only to be met with darkness. She knocked on the ceiling only to hear a dull thud which made her heart plummet and her sobs increase. She was under the ground already, surrounded by the earth. "Oh, God… Please… _Someone_." She continued to whisper as she turned every way she could to make more room even though she knew that was logically impossible.

She pounded on the ceiling again, this time with as much force as she could. "Someone! Help!" She screamed loudly praying that anyone would hear her even through the dirt on top of her. She continued to pound and scream until she became light headed, her limbs starting to grow heavy. Her body telling her to sleep as the last bits of air started to fade. She gave one last feeble scream as she laid her hands back down at her sides.

"Please…Someone…help…"

Her world went black as she closed her eyes and slept.

* * *

><p>He felt slightly sick as Doctor Honda pulled back the white sheet, showing her still form to them. Alfred bowed his head and said a soft prayer under his breath for the dead body, not caring if the girl wasn't religious. Dr. Honda let him as he patiently waited for the blonde to finish paying his respects before he moved the sheet further down, keeping the girl's top covered with a small white sheet.<p>

When Alfred was finished he lifted his head up with a deep sigh and nodded to the small Asian man on the other side of the table. "Alright, Kiku. Give me the details."

Kiku smiled sadly and nodded as he gently picked up the girls arm and showed it to Alfred, pressing his finger against the awful blue and black spots on her inner arm. "She was a user, or more likely they made her a user. I found a lot of PCP and cocaine in her system which suggested that she was not really in her right mind for most of the time." Alfred sighed as his eyes moved from the girl's dark bruises to her face.

"She's very pretty." Kiku commented when he noticed Alfred's gaze and quickly the American scowled.

"She _was_ pretty, Kiku. Now she's a corpse on a table because of shitty scum." He glanced away when he heard Kiku sigh softly and move to stroke the hair out of her face. "So, I'm guessing an overdose was the cause of death?" Alfred asked softly as he tried to control his urge to hit something or someone. When he saw Kiku shake his head he frowned and looked back down at the girl's body.

"No?"

Kiku hummed softly in agreement and nodded his head. "Yes and no. She didn't die from too many drugs. During the autopsy it showed that a lack of oxygen going to her brain was the cause of her death."

"That means?"

Kiku sighed and raised his head, beautiful dark brown eyes meeting blue. "She suffocated… I believe she was buried alive."

Kiku jumped when the American slammed his fist down on the metal table, causing a few things to shake and rattle at the harsh impact. "Fuck!" Alfred yelled and glared down at the girl's still form. "Those shit heads aren't human!" He yelled as his glare moved over to rest on Kiku to which the Japanese man quickly tried to calm his friend.

"Alfred, _please_." He warned.

Alfred glare softened slightly and he moved to rub his face roughly. "I'm sorry…it's just…"

"I know. It bothers me as well."

Alfred sighed and shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. "Well, at least we have something now to tell her parents." He groaned loudly and moved to scratch his head. "That will be a great conversation." Blue eyes watched the corpse for a few more minutes before they glanced over at his friend. "So, are we still on for tonight? Maybe this time you'll actually get a phone number."

He gave a weak grin when the small dark haired man frowned at him and covered up the body. "I don't want to go out to meet women, and even if I did I wouldn't take a woman who gives me her phone number on a bar napkin. Seems very undignified."

Alfred smiled. "Only to you, Kiku."

* * *

><p><strong>April 17<strong>**th****. Aeroplane, flight 352.**

"Would you like anything to drink? Teas, Coffees, juice?" A lovely air hostess said as she pushed her tangerine face into their row of seats. The man next to him and nearby the window, overlooking almost comical whiteness (it was as if whoever was drawing life had decided that since they were in the air, they needn't do the background for them. It was quite odd to see), declined. When it came to him, jammed in the middle of two men – _that was a first _- he nodded and accepted a cup of tea to finish the last hour or so of his journey with. The man to his other side frowned as Arthur guided the cup down, past his net book and into his own vicinity.

Sip. Bland. When he was bombarded with a few packs of sugar, they went straight in. Weak but sweet would do. This was hardly a holiday.

It was a shame that he had to keep a low profile and had been stuffed away, apparently strategically, into economy class instead of business class like usual. It meant that he had less room to outstretch and he could potentially get away with organising some of his work. Of course, with two men either side of him he would not risk letting them see anything. He was already in a dangerous game.

Pressing back against the headrest - one of the men stirred, because it rocked his seat a little. Stop mentally arguing with him. If they cared so much about their so-called privacy, why would they pick that seat? - Arthur thought back to that morning. Far as he was concerned, it was just another great leap backwards. It couldn't have gone more wrong.

-x-X-X-X-X-x-

_**Earlier that morning. Puteaux, France.**_

He had stirred in the bed a few times, unable to find a comfortable position. Arthur's lower body stung from the movement. Where previously it was warm beside him, now it greeted him with a cool feeling. Without opening his eyes, he lazily reached down and tugged the sheets back over his naked body a little more. He noticed then that there was a huge spot next to him in the bed that was missing the tell-tale substance of another person, and it made him groan.

All he could think was _'damn' it - this is going to be the second time recently that I wake up alone after sex, isn't it?'._

When he opened his eyes, he was met with a pleasant morning light. Orange-red colours were painted onto the white sheets, pouring in from the outside. Arthur rubbed the blurriness out of his eyes and looked towards the windows. It seemed that for once, he had not been abandoned. Francis was on the balcony, puffing a late post-coital cigarette. The sun bloomed like a red flower over Paris, the apparent 'city of love', spreading colourful rays all throughout the sky. It must have been early.

Arthur scoffed and curled up in bed a little bit more, trying to deny that soon, he had to get back to work. The bed was comfortable enough to absorb him. Why fill his mind with anything else over that relaxation, and silly proverbs? _'Red sky at night, Shepherd's delight. Red sky in the morning, Shepherd's warning'._

Francis stubbed the cigarette on the railing before he turned back to walk into the room. "Good morning, mon petit lapin. Did you sleep well?" He asked casually, his skin cold from just wearing a pair of pants outside. Francis sat down on the bed and moved close to Arthur, bringing him close so he could kiss the Briton on the forehead. "You are not as out of practice as I thought you would be."

"As well as I could sleep when I'm in the middle of _here_," Arthur complained. He was quite verbal in voicing his 'dislike' of France, though every so often he always exhibited qualities that indicated that a dislike for the place was not entirely what was on his mind. To Arthur's displeasure, Paris was a much more beautiful and ornate place than London. He frowned. "Just what does that mean?"

Francis smirked as he let his fingers slid down Arthur's bare spine, tickling the small of the Briton's back softly. "I am only saying that I know besides me you haven't had much luck in the chambre à coucher." He pulled Arthur so that he was flush against him, Arthur's bare legs rubbing against his soft dress pants.

He was pushed away - or at least his chest was, as Arthur's hands had jammed in-between them and intercepted the closeness. Those thick brows of his were tightened in annoyance. "Oh, as if! I'll let you know that you are not the only person I have slept with recently."

"Oh really?" Francis asked as a light blond eyebrow rose in disbelief. "And just who exactly was stupid enough to get close to prickly cacti like you? Did you grumble and order him around during love-making like you're oh-so good at doing with me."

Arthur pulled away from Francis and huffed, crossing his arms. "Please! He was perfect. He made love to me in a way that was _perfect_, Francis. I barely needed to instruct him at all. And he was gorgeous too. A stunner of a man..." He thought back to that rough stallion, those cheeky smiles, and those firm taut muscles. He was not even just amazing when they had sex. When they had their evening together the night before, Arthur found he was funny, intelligent, and ambitious. Perhaps a little ridiculous at times through his enthusiasm for stupid things, but that was strangely endearing.

Francis rolled his eyes as he let his hands move over Arthur's furry eyebrows softly. "Oh really? So, why is he not here right now with you in Paris?" The French man smirked as he tilted Arthur's face up so he could look into those bright green eyes. "I'm pretty sure he's not here, seeing as this is your hotel room and there is no one in here but you and moi." He licked at the tip of Arthur's nose teasingly.

"Shut up," Arthur growled at him, wiping away the wet patch on his nose and twisting around so Francis would stop fondling his face as if it was his. It was like this every time they got together. It was like Francis expected him to be the only man to ever grace Arthur's life. Well, perhaps previously that was true. "I met him on the job in Italy. He took me out, and we made love on the last night before I had to leave. You know my job. It couldn't last even if I wanted it to."

Francis hummed quietly already bored with Arthur's problems. He sat up quickly as he pulled his long hair into a low ponytail, moving to scratch his soft beard. "Shall we get something to eat, love?" He asked offhandedly as he reached over, grinning as he plucked Arthur's briefs up off the end of the bed. "Who knows, maybe we can find you a nice little _Italian_ place."

"No, no, Francis, I must be off. I'm meant to be following a lead, Francis. I don't have time for all of this. Last night was a fluke, you know that," Arthur sighed. He reached over and grabbed his underwear before stretching his legs and putting them on. "My laptop. It's on the—the _thing_..." he waved his hand more-or-less towards the desk. "I need you to help me translate something."

Francis sighed and muttered something in French before he walked over to the small net book on the desk and sat down gracefully. "Let's see... What is your password, Peu cher?" He asked as the screen lit up and asked for Arthur's password.

"Oh, for God's sakes... Give it here," Arthur mumbled, reaching for the laptop but refusing to get out of bed himself. When Francis gave him the computer, he typed in his password and found the IM conversation he needed Francis to translate. He then span the laptop around. "Read that, and tell me what it says."

Francis moved to take a sip of the espresso he'd ordered while Arthur was still asleep and moved over to sit on the bed softly. Blue eyes skimmed the writing that was presented to him as he took another small sip, before he chuckled lowly. "Ahh... Spelling mistakes are often very amusing." He continued to read, blonde eyebrow cocking every now and then at something he read.

"Oi, where did you throw my trousers last night? I can't see them," Arthur commented as he leant over the edge of the bed and glanced around like a meerkat in the savannah. He ducked his head and found them underneath the bed. No need to question how they got _there_. Withdrawing them out, he thought back to work matters. It would be helpful if Francis was not treating this like a piece of good literature. "Don't just read it; tell me what he's saying."

Light blue eyes rolled but he did as he was told. "It's not much. Actually I don't believe they are even French, because if they were they would have to be seven or mentally handicapped." He frowned as he pointed to a line in the e-mail and tapped his finger against the screen. Their French was just as imperfect as Arthur's. "He uses the male usage of the word when it should be the female one all the time." He moved to sip his drink gingerly again before telling Arthur what he really wanted to know. "Apparently he found a girl in Greece and has decided to go to Moscow. Not much else is said about it, he just writes that he hopes the person is doing well and that he will visit soon."

Arthur scowled. Something about that obviously did not quite add up. Why was this person speaking in broken French and going to Moscow? It was peculiar. As he shimmied himself into his trousers, the Briton tried to leant in and read what was on the screen - as if he could shed any more light than Francis already had. "That sounds incredibly shifty. Maybe he's Eastern European and talking to a French colleague? Is it formal, informal?" If he was from Eastern Europe, it might mean he was connected to the other Eastern European Arthur had a script for.

"It is not formal. Rather personal sounding, unless they are more free with their affection over there than here. Which I highly doubt," Francis huffed as he took another sip of his drink.

"Informal, I see," Arthur at least knew enough about French to know the significance. He sat on the bed and thought about what direction he needed to go. His boss wanted him to report back on his findings, so he would have to organise a statement. Hopefully they would hook him up with some reliable intelligence in Eastern Europe – he really did not like the idea of running about like a wild goose through multiple countries. "That really does not help. But at least the search is narrowing down."

Francis nodded and placed his cup down on the table before he pushed Arthur's laptop off the bed with a loud thud, the small net book meeting the plush carpet as the light haired blonde pinned the Briton down on the bed and nuzzled his neck. "There, I have done what you asked. Now reward me." He smiled widely as a finger trailed down Arthur's cheek.

"Nh?" Arthur stared up at the Frenchman that had clambered on top of him. His brow furrowed and he told himself internally that this was ridiculous - he did not care about Francis in a committed, relationship sense. But he still found himself leaning up and pressing their lips together for a moment. It was not magic. He did not want to let Francis whisk him into a world of their own and let him distract Arthur for another few minutes. No.

He briefly remembered the one that did. The one that made him fail his mission, but made him not regret it in the least.

-x-X-X-X-X-x-

Back on the plane, Arthur reminisced about his contact to MI6 after Francis had gone. They had told him to go to the South East of Europe first and work his way up. Bothersome at the least. It would likely take him several days to find someone viable to translate – especially if the subject of debate was potentially about the safety of this government official's daughter. Frankly, he scarcely knew why they were bothering to make him do this all. Whether it was murder, trafficking, or regular kidnap, it was highly unlikely that she was alive by now. Poor girl. He wouldn't wish any of those on anyone.

Arthur stared back out of the window as he leant backwards in his chair, musing about it as he tenderly drank his cup of vaguely tea-flavoured water.

* * *

><p><strong>July 4<strong>**th****.** **Jacksonville, Texas.**

Alfred sighed quietly as he leaned against the wall and took a sip of his beer. He watched his mother's side of the family mingle happily while the kids ran around with poppers, making the dogs bark loudly.

Everything was happy and fine.

So why did he feel so awful?

"Hey, why such a long face at our birthday party?" A voice came from beside him.

Alfred blinked as he turned to look at his older brother. He let a small smile form on his lips before he shrugged and took another sip of his beer. "I dunno. I just can't get in the partying mood, ya know?" He gave a pleading look when Matt shot him a frown and gripped his shoulder.

"Alfred. Everyone is here to celebrate our birthdays. The least you could do is be social with our family."

Alfred glared at his brother, but he knew he was right.

"Fine." He grumbled as he headed into the crowd. He chatted with his uncle and aunts for awhile before his grandmother came to give him one of her normal wet cheek kisses. After about an hour of socializing, Alfred moved back into the house, moving into the kitchen where it was surprisingly the quietest in the whole house. Good. He needed another beer.

"Oh Honey, why are you in here and not socializing with all of your guests? Did you come to keep me company?" A tall, blonde, woman with a thick Texan drawl said as she wandered over to the oven, checking briefly that her appetisers were cooking best as they could be. She opened the oven and a warm waft of pastry scents floated out.

The blonde male about jumped a foot in the air as he clutched at his heart. She had come out of nowhere! "Jesus Christ, Ma! You almost gave me a freaking heart attack!" He exclaimed as he leaned back against the counter, trying to get his heart to stop pounding. "You're lucky I'm not packing today." He joked slightly, them both knowing he would never shoot his own mother. He glanced over at the counter and swiped at one of his Mom's freshly cooked pigs in a blanket and popped it into his mouth.

While chewing he answered her question. "I dunno. I just don't feel like being out there with everyone."

The woman smacked his hand as a punishment for stealing one of her appetisers. "Don't you 'Jesus' me in that tone of voice, young man! Hands off those pigs before I cook your fingers too!"

She slotted her oven gloves over her hands. As she brought the tray out and fiddled with flipping the food so that each piece could bake evenly, she could not help notice the dreary expression on the young American's face. "I know that unhappy face. It's not usual to look like that when it's your birthday, now is it? So why are you looking like the sun fell down, darlin'?"

Alfred pouted at her slap to his hand but he didn't retort, he just leaned against the counter and shrugged. "I don't know..." He glanced out the window as he watched Kate cling to her father's leg so Matt would have to walk with her on it. He smiled slightly and turned his attention back to his mother. "I think I'm letting work get to me. Too many murders, kidnappings and such. It's kinda hard to be happy after seeing all that." He bit his lip as he glanced down at the linoleum covered floor.

She sighed and nodded. "I don't know about all that political mumbo jumbo as much as you do, dear, you know that," she responded before tucking the food back into the oven for another few minutes. With a look outside into the sun and the celebration, she found herself smiling. Perhaps she lived a simple life, but it was the life for her. But not for her son. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but surely there's something to smile about, ain't there?"

Alfred thought for a moment. Something to smile about?

Green eyes.

British accent.

Pale skin.

Straw colored blonde hair.

Alfred's cheeks warmed as a large smile spread across his face, his heart starting to beat a little fast as he remembered his time in Italy. "Well...Yeah. I guess there are some things." He wondered what it would have been like if he had given Arthur his number, maybe had a few dates and such. Maybe Arthur would have wanted to come to his birthday party? Alfred quickly shook his head at those thoughts. He was being silly. He was still a widower for God's sake. How could he just forget about Jasmina like that?

But... _still_. It was nice to imagine. "Yeah. There are some things."

"If I know my son, and I do, I would know that look. You're thinking of someone aren't you? A girl is it?" His mother asked him as she took off her oven gloves and turned to look at her son, studying Alfred's reactions. She still remembered the dopey and pleased expression he wore when he first brought that Moroccan beauty to meet her. My, hadn't she been a beaut. It was such a shame. "It's a lil' bit early, but Heaven knows that Jasmina would want you to be happy, bless her soul."

Alfred blushed and quickly reverted back to his teenage years as he waved his mother off. "_Mom_! No!" The tall blonde quickly turned to grab a beer from the fridge and moved away from his mother. "Come on, you know me. Jas is my girl." He nodded, more trying to convince himself that he wasn't crushing on some random British fling in front of his mother. "She'll always be my girl. You know that." He opened the beer with a soft pop and took a gulp from it.

"Alfred," The older woman sighed and folded her arms, leaning against the countertop. She looked at him thoughtfully, deciding what she wanted to say before she came out with it. "Honey, I know it's a moral dilemma and I'm not sayin' I understand, cause my ex-spouse bailed on me but he's still around. But you are young, Alfred. I've got twenty some years on you. You really want to live through however long on your own, sunshine? We loved Jasmina, God bless her, but you should think about the future."

Alfred frowned when he heard his mom call their dad her ex- 'spouse', she wouldn't even use the word husband or 'Your Dad'. But he sighed as he took another sip of his beer debating whether or not he should tell his mother about Arthur, if that was really even his name. "What... What if you missed your chance to move on? What if that was your one chance and you let it slip by?"

The elder was sharp enough to understand almost immediately what that meant. She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly through her nose. "You didn't get her number, did ya Honey?" His Mother asked knowingly. She wandered over to him and gave her son a hug, tugging him into her warm arms. "I'm sorry, my baby. Did you wanna talk about it?"

Alfred smiled slightly then shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Just... wish I would have gotten their number or e-mail or something." He smiled slightly as he remembered how fiery and snappish Arthur was but also how soft the man could be. He was full of contradictions and Alfred loved that about him. "They were British you know? Said 'bloody', 'bollocks' and everything."

"British? Oh it figures that you'll get another foreigner. You're a man of the world, aren't you, sugar?" She chuckled before letting him go and patting him on his back. The smile she gave him was warm and reassuring. "What else is she like?"

Alfred blinked and then chuckled softly, his mother knew that he went for both teams but she had always hoped that he would end up with a woman. Which is why she thanked God and everything above when he married Jasmina. But now... Well, it wasn't like he was going to see Arthur again so any chance of him meeting Alfred's mother was farfetched.

He didn't mind fibbing a bit.

"Well, she was real skinny, only about five, five." He put his hand up to his chest to show where Arthur had come up to on him, or this imaginary adaptation, at least. "She was super pale with a few freckles on her face which in all honesty was pretty adorable, huge green eyes which were just crazy. I mean if you could see them, Mom, you would just be amazed. Her hair was light blonde and cropped short, kind of with a shaggy bed head look which was really hot." Alfred blinked then blushed when he realized he had just admitted something was sexy in front of his mother. "Erm... Yeah. So, she was real cool."

Oblivious to the extent to which Alfred lied, his mother gave him a beaming smile to show him how proud of him she was, and how glad that he was doing well. "Well, she sounds like a darling. Shame I couldn't get to meet her," she replied, before she raised the plate of pigs in blankets and offered him one more before they would be taken outside. When he took one, she pushed the plate into his hands. "See? Everything is good. You know how proud we are of you. Now go outside and have some sun. Enjoy it before you go back to work, Hun."

He couldn't help but beam at his mother and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug until Mattie came in and told Alfred to get outside.

It was starting to get dark, and it was the fourth of July.

Time for Alfred's favourite part.

Fireworks.

* * *

><p><strong>July 7<strong>**th****. Tallinn, Estonia.**

It had taken Arthur several exhausting months to build up information in the East. Unlike with the translation for the script from French into English, like Francis had transliterated for him, he had no knowledge of Eastern European languages personally at all. It would have taken him weeks to identify which country, exactly, the script had come from - let alone how useful it was at all. It could turn out that the potential lead had been pointing in the opposite direction he wanted to go all of this time. Not to mention, he had to gather intelligence on the people that he got to translate the script. Were they trustable? Could he rely on them to explain to him what it said truthfully?

After a gruelling few weeks, in which Arthur became more desperate and bored of touring Eastern Europe - hopping from one country to another every five or six days - he was finally put in contact with a confirmed reliable source in Estonia. The source had supposedly been influential for the UK during the Cold War, feeding information from inside the Soviet Union. It was a relief for Arthur to finally not have to shadow a person for days before finally contacting them to have it revealed that all that had been a _bloody waste of time_.

Yes, he was bitter. He really did not understand why his bosses did not send someone to help.

He sat in front of the address he had been given with an envelope in his hand. It had a name on it written in shaky Estonian, because Arthur was never too certain with foreign languages. There were some weird accents on it, and he found himself getting worried that the flicks were pointing in the wrong direction – oh, he was not a linguist. As he shimmied his bottom on the perished wooden bench, Arthur wondered if this 'Red-fox to Grey-Squirrel' routine would work at all. A foreigner sat on a bench outside a certain address with an envelope in his hands, no matter how you looked at it, was _bloody shifty_.

"C-Come on... come on," Arthur urged, glancing around quietly to see whether there was anyone in sight. It was not horrendously cold, but Arthur still found it somewhat unpleasant.

A few people walked by the Briton, barely glancing at him as they made their way to wherever they were headed. The wind picked up slightly and caused Arthur's hair to blow up and to the side, making the man's bed head look even worse. As he quickly moved to fix it he could hear the soft creak of the bench as someone sat down next to him.

The man was dressed in a simple dress shirt and jacket, jeans that were worn, frayed and had holes at the knees. His hair was a dirty blonde that was cut in a simple hair style, his bangs hanging just above his eyes while a pair of glasses rested gently on the bridge of his nose. He moved to scratch softly at his jaw before he cleared his throat and shifted the messenger bag he had been carrying onto his lap.

Arthur waited for a few minutes, as he had been instructed, before he gave in. They were wasting time, and Arthur was frankly bored of doing that already. He turned towards his informant and sighed. "I'm not going to bother with these encoded replies bollocks, because frankly I don't care if 'the koala is in the tree' or if your day has been a very exact degree of splendiferous. You wouldn't happen to be Eduard von Bock, would you?"

When he realised what the other looked like, Arthur's heart stilled for a moment and he held his breath. The blue-green eyes, blond hair, and silver glasses distracted him. A warm, fickle feeling erupted in his stomach, and it took for him to notice that this person was significantly less muscular in the chest and shoulder region than _that person_ had been before it would settle down. He swallowed and looked away.

The other's eyes glanced slightly up towards the sky, as if he was trying to decide if it was going to rain or not. The man then smiled and turned to Arthur as he held out his hand for it to be shaken. "Yes. I'm Eduard... but please just call me Ed. I enjoy it more than my full name." His eyes roamed over Arthur for a bit as he nodded. "And you must be Mr. Kirkland?"

Taking his hand and shaking it, Arthur noticed that Eduard had more than subtle softness to him in the form of polite mannerisms. Arthur had always found Nordics very agreeable, and he knew that Estonians fancied themselves to be considered one with Scandinavia more than the Baltics. It was certainly evidence in their behaviours. Either way, he always enjoyed a person with appropriate mannerisms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Arthur. I believe this is meant to be yours?" Arthur gave the other the envelope. He had been told by a higher-up that it was a cheque for Mr. Von Bock, for his services in their mission and to assure his assistance in the future. Looking over Eduard, Arthur gave an exhaling laugh. "It's odd. When they told me that you helped the UK in the Cold War, I had expected someone much older. Were you even born?"

Ed smiled warmly as he took the envelope, putting it in his bag without looking if it was the correct amount. That would be rude. He laughed very softly and shook his head, eyes moving to glance down at the dirt under the bench. "No, erm. My mother was. Rather, she was carrying while she served. Carrying me actually which is why she likes to say I helped as well."

Arthur smiled. "Thought so. I wouldn't have reckoned you were older than I am, and I was born in the eighties," he explained. It was nice to see that he came from a family background that was reliable too. But enough fannying around. Now it was time for business. He cleared his throat. "Would you like to do this here, or, is there somewhere inside...?"

Ed smiled as he looked up at the building Arthur was referring to and shook his head with a small chuckle. "Oh, well. If we wanted to go in that house we sure could, though I don't know how well the owners would take it." He stood up as he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and waited for Arthur to do the same. "I know a small restaurant we can talk at though? How does that sound?"

Arthur blinked for a second, before he forced himself to look away. For some reason, he was reminded of Alfred again and his insistence towards them having a date on that evening, many months ago. Why, several months down the line, was he still thinking of the same man and his irresistible, platinum white smile? Nevertheless, why did Eduard have to look _so like him_? Smaller, but similar.

It was quite obviously not an invitation for a date, though Arthur's heart seemed to like to pretend temporarily that it was - until he forced logic into the matter. The likelihood he had strolled onto another gay male that just so happened to look like _the one that got away_, and was loyal to the British government, was so incredibly slim. Be still, his beating heart.

"Er, right," he picked up his laptop bag and smiled weakly at the other. "It might be a bit hard to get privacy, though?"

Ed shook his head and started walking away at a slow pace, giving Arthur time to catch up with him if needed. "No, not many people are interested in other people's business here unless it's something very interesting indeed. We should find a place that has wireless internet, that way if we need to look up something on my laptop we can." He patted his bag softly, almost lovingly as he glanced back at the Briton. "Coming?"

Hurrying, he caught up the pace. From walking alongside the other, Arthur noticed that they were not too far off the same height. Arthur forced himself not to think aesthetically, and to have his mind focused on his job. Ever since Alfred had happened, he had been jumpy with other men. It was like his heart wished for someone, _somewhere_, to form replacement for the best man he had ever had and his biggest mistake.

"So what do you do? Other than be intelligence for some foreign government occasionally, of course. You don't feel guilty for perhaps disobeying your government, do you?" Arthur asked, quizzing him for further information.

A small smile was in place on Ed's face as they continued down the road, his hand resting protectively on his small cloth bag. "I'm an IT consultant. I travel around a lot and work with all kinds of people." He shrugged his shoulders slightly and laughed. "Though it's not as wonderful as it sounds. There are a lot of silly people out there, hard to deal with. One man actually didn't know his monitor had been unplugged the entire time."

He moved around a corner and after a few more steps they were there. When Ed had said it was small, he wasn't kidding. There were only about seven tables in the entire restaurant and only two waiters for the whole thing. Ed waved his arm and they were quickly seated at a window table, the sun setting slowly. "And you, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur was stunned how close the restaurant was. In reality, it was far more of a café - though he did find himself annoyed to see that shelter was so close by. Why had he been instructed to meet in such an odd, outdoors place? Perhaps because it had been off of a main road – more privacy. He placed his laptop bag on the top of the table, drawing the sleek net book out. "Been working for, er, _where I work_, for several years now. I was in the more... ah, _domestic branch_, but then I had a disagreement with my ex-partner. We split up and I wanted to be out of the country as much as possible to get away."

From MI5 to MI6. All because of a silly feud with the first love of his life. Seemed ridiculous now that he thought about it. He wondered how they were now.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that." Ed admitted quietly as he got his own laptop out, an old grey HP. As he set it up the light blonde ordered him and Arthur something warm to drink and some hot rye bread with whipped butter. "I hope you like chocolate coffee. It's wonderful." When his computer dinged softly he smiled and nodded completely ready.

The Briton responded with a small, considerate smile. However he did not have the heart to tell the Estonian that he really did not care for coffee. He placed it on the other side of him, as Arthur booted his computer up. "Thank you. Now, let me explain the situation. As they might have told you, I acquired a script from an internet café in Greece. I need you to translate it for me as best as you can, or at least point out if there is anything out of the ordinary. A girl was kidnapped hours after being in the café, so I need to know whether this person was involved."

Ed nodded and typed a few things into his laptop before he glanced up at Arthur's face, nodding. "Do we know what kind of language I am translating or will I be figuring that out as well?" He thanked the waiter when he gave them some bread and butter and some pickled meat.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at their 'treats'. He opted for some of the bread and butter, without going near the whiffy meat. He was not much of a culinary critic, nor very culturally adventurous. What the English had adopted was best for him. "I'm not terribly sure. I don't even know if it's Eastern European by now. I'm half afraid it might be from a wider scope. Shows you not to presume, doesn't it? Next I know, it'll turn out Kazakhstan... -i? -ian?"

Ed waited for a few moments, then glanced to the side and cleared his throat. "Ahh... do you have the note I can look at, or—?" He wasn't given anything prior to the meeting; he had only been told that a UK official needed help with translating.

Turning back to his laptop, Arthur opened up the file that the Grecian at the café had given him. Up popped an IM chat script in a language that Arthur had no chance in deciphering by himself. Even several weeks with Google translate would not work – not that that would ever be a reliable source. "The language is a mystery to me, let alone what it says." He pushed his laptop around for Eduard to read.

The Estonian yawned quietly and covered his mouth before he shifted to get a better look at the screen. He fixed his glasses a bit and frowned as he glanced over the foreign words, mouthing the words as he read them. He took a sip of his coffee and wiped his upper lip as he frowned, moving to press his finger against the screen. "I see..." Ed nodded and then turned to Arthur. "Well, it is Lithuanian. No doubt there."

Arthur let out a loud exclamation, rolling his eyes. "_Finally_, someone tells me! You have no idea how long it has taken for me to find out," he pushed back into the seat and shook his head, grabbing another piece of bread. He hesitated before he bit into it. "Anything else would be helpful."

Ed nodded and looked through it, frowning slightly when words that he didn't understand were used so he quickly ran a check through his computer. "The man or woman writing this letter seems to be very professional. It seems almost as if they are writing to their boss or higher up. They talk about an exchange made in Greece and that the meeting with 'The General' will go as planned." Ed glanced up at Arthur. "The General? Does that mean anything to you?"

A flag in Arthur's mind instantly flashed red, warning sirens filling him and tossing everything else out of his consciousness. Arthur's eyebrow cocked. Finally, they were onto something. Something highly suspicious.

"The General? No. I've never heard of someone calling themselves that," Arthur said, before he delved into an internal conversation. General Who? No, let's push away the Doctor Who comparisons. General who? A Political figure? A military general? Either way, a character that was not part of the government in one way or another would sound suspicious with a title like that. He would have to investigate Lithuania more carefully.

"Is there anything else? Any indicators at all?"

Ed glanced back at his computer and continued reading and translating, until he found something of interest. "Oh. Umm... They talk about a certain event happening soon. I believe it's in Moscow. A charity of sorts?" Ed continued to read and then started pulling up other windows on his computer and typing them in. He bit his lip slightly and frowned when his glasses slid down his nose, using his fingers to push them back up he smiled when he apparently found something.

"Ahh, The World's Elite Charity ball. Give back to the Children." He turned his screens around to show Arthur. There was the website for the event, showing many of the richest people in the world giving over large checks to charities around the world. "This year's theme is helping develop schools in third world countries..." Ed muttered then pointed to a small section at the bottom. "Invite only of course. Can't have just anybody around the worlds best, I guess."

Arthur's heart swelled at that news. Someone amongst those people was likely to be in shifty business. Finally, he was getting to the best stuff. He clasped his hands together and beamed. "Brilliant. That's brilliant!" He exclaimed. Head office would be pleased to hear it. With that knowledge, Arthur hopped off of his chair and leant in, looking at the date. The event was for a few weeks time. That was perfect. Not to mention, Francis had linked the other male from the café to Moscow – the story was adding up. _He had something_! "We've got a few weeks to organise the cover story, gain some connections, and get myself an invitation. Oh my God, that is too perfect. Thank you," he said as an after-thought.

Ed smiled widely and nodded, laughing softly when the people in the restaurant gave them an odd look due to Arthur's excitement. "You are welcome, Mr. Kirkland." He quickly copied the websites URL to an e-mail and sent it to the e-mail Arthur had supplied to him before they had met. Ed closed his laptop with a soft click and put the old thing back into his bag, before turning to Arthur happily. "Shall we eat now?"

Arthur started to tuck his net book away as well, sliding her into her sleeve and depositing it safely bag in his bag. He had a lead. An actual lead. A lead that was not a waste of time. _Christ_, the amount of times he wanted to give up on his translation project and investigate other means was astounding. Yet it had paid off. It had _actually paid off_.

Eduard's question bought him a bit back to reality. He looked at him in confusion, before he realised that he was being very rude indeed. He had literally wanted to jump out of the café and go straight onto his next investigation - and going undercover, which was certainly the fun bit. He had always been a good actor. Though sadly, he had a host to comply with. He took his seat again and smiled loosely. "Excuse me, perhaps I got carried away."

The rest of lunch was pleasant, but Arthur was simply buzzing to return to his work. His boss would be very proud of him for finally finding a valuable lead like this.

He was back on track.

* * *

><p><strong>July 27<strong>**th****. ?, the United States.**

As he browsed through Facebook on his phone, Alfred couldn't help but snicker at a comment Mattie and one of his old high school friends made on a picture he had posted a few weeks ago. When he felt curious brown eyes on him he quickly pressed the cancel button and slipped the I-phone back into his pocket.

"Do you always browse the internet when you are supposed to be working?" The owner of the brown eyes asked in a light, soft almost French sounding accent. Alfred snorted as he glanced over at his companion in the room, his chair sitting right next to hers as they waited for their instructions for their newest assignment.

She was beautiful.

He tried to keep his eyes to her round, tanned face, but she made it very hard for him when she kept crossing and uncrossing those long thin legs in that stupid skirt she insisted was modest. He noticed that instead of her trademark low pigtails, she had opted to put her long hair into a loose fishtail braid which made her look _much_ less like a child. It also didn't help that she had actually put in effort today and used make up, which made her wide brown eyes look even wider and more pronounced.

Too bad he couldn't see her past the friend zone.

Attraction was one thing. Romantic feelings were something completely different.

"Well, we aren't exactly working. We are waiting for Federal Agent Brody to arrive, so there." He stuck out his tongue and grinned when she sighed but a small smile quirked up on her lips. Alfred shifted in his seat again before leaning his head towards her, chuckling when she leaned away best she could while looking sceptical. "So, what have you been up to, Chell?"

"It's Angelique Michelle. You know that, Alfred."

He made a face at the name and shook his head. "Nah, that name sounds too prim and bitchy for you." He ignored her offended huff as he continued. "You're more of a Chelly or Angie. You pick." He smiled at her charmingly as she frowned at him, clearly displeased with both of the choices he had given her.

"And if I don't like either name?" She asked, trying to hide the fact she was enjoying their little banter with a weak glare. Alfred just shrugged and picked at a piece of lint on his suit.

"Then I get to pick and I will pick the worst, babyish sounding name you could ever think of." He waggled his brows at her before she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine. I pick Angie then. It sounds far better than Chelly."

Alfred smiled widely and reached over to tug at her braid softly, causing her to smack at his hand lightly. "Then, Angie it is."

They both shared a small smile before the door opened and in walked a frustrated Agent Brody. The two watched as the man grumbled and stalked over to his desk angrily, pushing papers into different drawers and removing any clutter. "Sorry, I was late. My five year old thought it would be a good idea to touch the hot stove when his mother and I told him specifically not to."

Alfred and Angie remained quiet as they watched the man fluster around for a few more minutes before finally getting settled. He took a few sips of the coffee that had been waiting for him and then relaxed back into his office chair before glancing at the two in his office, and smiled slightly. "Agent Jones, Miss Laroche." He nodded to both of them as he said their names and picked up a stack of papers and read them over.

"Ahh… The banquet mission. Right." He placed the papers down and took another sip of his coffee before he began. "So, Miss Laroche. You are aware of Agent Jones findings when it comes to the abduction cases correct?"

Angie gave a quick nod and shifted as she moved to pull her own reports from her bag she had brought. "Yes. Mr. Jones as briefed me a bit on his findings in Germany as well as in Paris, France." She leafed through her documents before she stopped on a page and read through it then nodded turning back to look at agent Brody. "But, I really can't do much, what with Mr. Jones having killed our only _known_ suspect."

Alfred frowned as he shot a glare at Angie. God. He makes one mistake and everyone is on his back, he even had to have a leave of absence due to the incident in Norway. At least it had finally forced him to stop working and go spend time with his family over his birthday, but he was still a bit sore about it. Alfred met Brody's eyes for a minute before the man questioned Angie again. "And in your expert opinion, Alfred Jones is ready to go back into the field?"

"I'm right here."

Two pairs of brown eyes watched him before they moved back to the subject.

"Yes. Mr. Jones does show remorse for his actions."

"Not for killing the bastard."

Angie ignored Alfred's commentary. "He knows he did wrong by the agency and hurt the chances of solving a very important case. But, after several sessions with Mr. Jones I see him as no longer a threat to this case, nor the mission that you have planned for him." She cleared her throat to show she was done and folded the papers in half, almost as in a nervous habit. Brody watched the two of them for a minute before nodding and picking up a pen that had been lying on his desk. "If the shrink says it's alright, then I will have to go on that."

Alfred smirked when Angie made a face at her profession and job title being belittled with that word and he shifted up in his seat. "Great. So, what's the news? Where am I going?"

"And me."

Alfred frowned when he heard her speak up and he gave Brody a pleading look. "Does she really have to come?" He ignored Angie's squawk at his question and he saw out of the corner of his eye her hand twitch in an effort to refrain from hitting him. "I mean she's not even an agent. She has no training or anything, what if we get in trouble?"

His shoulders slumped when he saw Brody shake his head at Alfred's logic. "Agent Jones, this is a mission where there really should not be _any_ trouble to get into. It is an information gathering type and unless you plan to run in and shoot everyone that looks suspicious, I highly doubt there will be any trouble."

"But—_But_!"

"It's _final_, agent Jones. Now, do you want to know the details or am I going to have to find another more willing agent?"

Alfred glared at the two of them in silence before he huffed and slumped in his chair. "Whatever." He muttered as Angie smiled and turned to Brody.

"So, what are our code names?" She chuckled slightly and Alfred just rolled his eyes muttering that they were called aliases. Brody smiled slightly at Angie and passed out a packet of papers to them.

"The banquet will be held in Moscow. It is a Charity ball, so formal dress is not optional." They ignored Alfred's whine. "Jones, we will have to rent you a tux and Miss. Laroche we will have to find you a suitable gown for the role you will be playing. If the information Alfred gathered is correct, there will also be an auctioning of girls behind the scenes. That is why I need you two to scout out the area and mingle, see who knows what."

"That's disgusting." Angie whispered.

Brody nodded at her statement but continued. "Alfred, you will be going as Mr. Anthony Pierce. You will be a wealthy heir to very old money on your mother's side, while you work as a lawyer for a firm. You went to Princeton and have a huge love for lacrosse."

"Ew."

"And Angelique, you will be going as Mrs. Julie Pierce. Anthony's loving wife and college sweet-heart. You two met at Princeton while Julie was studying psychology. You married two years after graduating and are now trying to have children. Julie likes to spend her time with charity work and also enjoys gardening when she's not working at her office. Any questions or concerns?"

"I can't grow a thing, sir."

"And I hate lacrosse."

* * *

><p><strong>July 28<strong>**th****. Moscow, Russia.**

Honestly, Arthur was in his element. There was nothing Arthur loved more than wearing a tuxedo. He was the type, admittedly, to look in the mirror to admire his handiwork occasionally - something gave him tremendous pride in looking his best. Right now, he was in a black suit with a black bow tie. His usually unruly hair had been thoroughly combed and slicked back. It made him quite handsome, if he did not say so. Everyone was allowed to have vain moments where they think _'gosh, yes, I am actually quite attractive_'. This was his.

The Briton smiled at a lady that had been eyeing him up, especially since he was alone. He felt like such a stud, such an attraction. By the very virtue of his presence here, he was rich too. The ball was for sizeable donations to charity after all. He was a rich, young bachelor. Oh, it was a treat to play.

Harry Taylor was his name. He was a graduate from Cambridge University, and he had come from a rich heritage. His life was of the silver spoon, having gone to Eton College and born as an upperclassman. He believed that the protection of the environment and the royal family were the most important things a respectful British person should care about, and he had a fond love of golf. He also had two corgis called Champagne and Rosé. He drove a Prius, and was an engineer himself. His riches were mostly inherited.

Put simply, he was almost everything he despised or thought pompous, and it made him so happy. Because he loved that he could overdo his accent or act like he was better than everyone else, just for his character to sink in. He was the perfect stereotype. Didn't it just make his heart swell? It amused him secretly every time he spoke in his deliberately chosen, posh and condescending tone.

He swiped a glass of champagne from one of the wandering waiters, scanning the room for targets. He had to find out who was the boss of this place. Who was the General...?

As Arthur glanced around, his green orbs were pulled in by a pair of bright violet eyes and a kind smile that for some reason made Arthur feel welcome but also uneasy. The man was tall. So tall that he easily towered over the brunette waiter that passed by him and he easily grabbed a flute of champagne from the man's tray without disrupting anything.

The man made his way towards Arthur, stark white hair moving into his eyes slightly and he walked. He was dressed impeccably well; his tux crisp and neat with the small black bow tie tied neat and snug around his neck. "Hullo." He greeted Arthur, his accent thick and obviously Russian. "My name is Ivan Braginski." He offered a large hand. "And you?"

Arthur smiled as he was approached by a random gentleman who had realised that he was alone, clearly. He regarded the splendidly dressed sir with an obligatory look, as if evaluating whether he was worth speaking to - _he loved playing this stuck-up character_. He finally held his own hand out and they shook firmly. The Russian's hand was quite a lot larger than his own. "Charmed," Arthur said before he placed a hand on his chest and introduced himself. "Harry Taylor. Your name is Braginski—does that mean that this is your event? This is lovely, I must admit."

There came that same charming but oddly creepy smile again as he shifted a bit closer to Arthur so that he could give the group next to them more room. "Ah, yes. Hello, Mr. Taylor." He took a small sip of his drink and his right eye twitched so slightly it might as well not have happened. "Mmm... I do not like champagne. Always seem more of a woman's drink. I'm impressed you noticed my name, many people hear only come to say they were here and did a good deed."

"Ah, perhaps then I am far more well informed," Arthur offered before he took a wealthy amount of the drink himself. Just enough to seem sociable. He had to make sure he did not over consume, in case he got intoxicated - which everyone that had ever worked with him knew was a bad thing. He was the sort to blurt out thoughts and secrets when under the influence. "It's a good motive too. Though I can't help be curious—Is this for the cause, or is it for the business opportunity?" He smiled through the glass.

Ivan raised a pale eyebrow and glanced down at the small Briton, a small smile tugging at his lips. "My goodness, Mr. Taylor. You seem to think I am some kind of heartless billionaire with only a care for image and my business." He snapped his fingers at a waiter and quickly ordered straight vodka before turning back to Arthur. "Though I would be lying if I said this wasn't completely for the press. And yourself, Mr. Taylor? Are you here just to give poor children a school or is it because of the group picture we will be taking later for the entire world to see?"

"I'm here to make a... worthwhile investment. I do wonder if you could help me with that, Mr. Braginski," Arthur said, classically over-pronouncing his words to make himself sound like how broadcasters pronounced the Queen's English back in the day. His accent rolled off of the tongue. Shooting a knowing glance over his shoulder, Arthur tried to see what Ivan's reaction to that was.

_Give us a clue, Ivan. Who is the General?_

"Please, call me Harry," Arthur insisted.

Violet eyes watched him with curiosity, but stopped when the waiter came back with a clear glass filled to the brim with ice and vodka. He thanked the nameless waiter and took a sip of the liquid, smiling when it burned his throat and made his stomach cold. "Well, _Harry_. How much are you willing to donate? Remember, four grand in your English pounds will get your name in a wing of a school."

Arthur drunk another sizeable amount of his drink, before he gave a smirk that only a privileged, well brought-up male could pull off without intentionally being ironic. He shuffled his bow tie till he was sure it was suitably straight. "I've got enough. Several thousand - hundred thousand - that I'm willing to give away. Well, I say give away - but I like something to _show_ for it." He glanced back at Ivan. "Charity is one thing, but you couldn't point me towards another way to spend it... could you?"

He gave a dirty smile which slowly worked its way over his face - an indication to let Ivan know he had heard something. He prayed internally for this not to backfire.

Ivan tilted his head at the Briton's words and looked over at him, white brow furrowed as if he didn't quite understand what the man was implying. "Ahhh... I'm sorry. I do not catch your meaning." He said quietly, no more smile on his face as he turned to look at Arthur fully. "Please explain."

Arthur opened his mouth to further hint at what he meant - it was a delicate business. If Ivan _was_ innocent, then he would be shocked if he mentioned too much about the women. But he needed Ivan to also twig onto what he was talking about. Difficult.

But then Arthur and the Russian were jolted out of their own conversation when a young man laughed loudly a few feet over. Ivan glanced over, a tired look coming onto his face as he watched the group of people laugh along with the young man, but it was the man's laugh reached over everyone else's. "Mmm. Americans."

His speech was interrupted before it began. At Ivan's comment, Arthur turned his head to see that the laughter was about. He froze, pupils dilating in shock. _That couldn't be_.

There stood the man that had left him back in Italy. The same man who had imprinted completely onto Arthur for the past couple of months and made the Briton never forget his time down in the Mediterranean. The one who had gotten away was standing only eight feet away, decked in a black Gucci Brera suit that fitted him perfectly along with a pair of fine leather black shoes that shone brightly. His hair was smoothed back neatly, only a few stray pieces moving to frame his round but defined face.

Blue eyes shone brightly as he cracked another joke that had the others around him tittering softly while he himself laughed loudly. He was taller than Arthur remembered, but no less beautiful.

To say that Arthur was astounded was an understatement. To be accurate, Arthur gawped. His mouth lingered open as he stared at the man that he had been longing for all this time - the man that he slept with Francis to forget, or when meeting Eduard. The one he had always had on the back of his mind. Suddenly he was whipped back into his life, and in the most shocking of places. That suit—that laughter, God had he missed that laughter. He looked rich. Richer than Arthur had thought back in Italy. Had Alfred been rich all of this time?

His heart sunk as he realised that he could not let Alfred see him, whatever the cost. He had a persona to fill. He had to make Ivan believe he was someone that he was not—a task that was not easy when someone else already knew his name and knew his face. It was hopeless almost as soon as the joy began.

Ivan glanced down at his shorter companion's face and frowned slightly, sipping his vodka again before tilting his head to enquire about the Briton's well being. "Are you alright, Harry? You seem... bothered." He asked quietly, eyes scanning over the pale cheeks and look of horror in Arthur's eyes. Violet eyes moved to scan over the crowd that Arthur had glanced at, trying to see what could have made the man next to him started to fret. "Someone you know over there?"

A person walked in front of him and blocked his view, which is why Arthur realised that he needed to focus. He looked back and noticed Ivan staring at him. This was not good - talk about being inconspicuous. "I-I... no, no, I thought I saw someone I knew but apparently not," Arthur said in an awkward tone, trying to keep his posh-end accent while he was genuinely distressed.

That had been Alfred. His Alfred. His _bloody_ Alfred. The Alfred that he slept with. That gorgeous man had been inside of him. He forgot how gorgeous he was. That didn't matter. He was _here_. He was _here_, here, here when _he_ was. As an _alias_.

_Fuck_.

Arthur gave Ivan a curious look, and tried to hide his panic. He had a half smile on his face which twitched slightly, showing just how forced it was. Should he abort the mission and run? But when would he have another opportunity like this? Maybe Alfred would never notice him - there were a lot of people attending. "Excuse me. Ex-partner, actually, hence my worry. B-Back to business?"

Ivan studied Arthur for a few more minutes before he shrugged and continued to small talk with the slim Briton as if that weird episode had never happened, but light eyes kept watch at the group Arthur had been gawking at. They laughed again before the blonde with bright blue eyes excused himself, leaning down to whisper something in his companion's ear, wife maybe, and moved to go get something to drink.

The Russian smiled softly and raised a hand. "Pierce." He called over the crowd, a few people giving him unamused looks at his loud voice but quickly going back to their mingling. Blue eyes turned to see Ivan and a smile grew on his face until they moved to look at the Briton next to him. Two times that night Ivan saw men look as if they had seen a ghost... it made him feel oddly happy. "Come over, I wish you to meet my friend."

He grinned when he watch the American look like a deer caught in the head lights, he could actually see the thought of running go through that pretty head before the blonde smiled widely and made his way over. "H-Hey, guys. What's up?" Ivan inwardly chuckled when he heard the quiver in the man's voice.

If Alfred's mind was not filled with a long string plethora of swear words, then Arthur's certainly was. His cover was broken and he _should _have ran. He was tempted to excuse himself - but where would that get him? Certainly not closer to solving this case.

Arthur tried to dignify himself. He shook his head and tried desperately to regain a stoic expression - stony-faced and straight-backed, open body language. He tried to relieve the fright in his eyes, but they only got wider as Alfred came closer. It was him. Every last detail the same - the man that had kissed him, made love to him, ruined the mission in Italy, ruined enjoying having sex with Francis, plagued him in Estonia, and...

In fact, come to think of it - he had been thinking that Alfred had been everywhere. He had constantly thought about that beautiful bastard. So what was the likelihood that they were not coincidence? Arthur took a half step backwards as he realised that he had been trying to shake a shadow off of his tail for weeks.

Someone had been following him around, and now he had been haunted by what might as well have been a ghost. Arthur forced himself to recall the location of his gun and where the knife was strapped on his leg. Ankle, to be precise.

_What if he had been horrendously stupid indeed?_

Arthur extended a hand out for the American to shake, forcing another smile. It was firmer this time, but only because Arthur was stiff with - frankly - fear. Alfred, if that was his real name, could administer a drug to kill him easily. One swift move. People around them would never even know. He should have ran. Why didn't he run? He was such an idiot. "Good day. Harry Taylor, pleasure to meet you," he announced.

For the longest time the American just stared at the hand Arthur presented to him, before reaching up slowly and gripping it almost painfully tight with his own cold and sweaty palm. "Nice to meet you... Harry." He said carefully, his cheeks flushing a bit before he forced himself into a face splitting grin, it being so wide the other two could almost see the first of his molars. "It's very nice to meet you, Harry." He repeated this time with a bit more confidence. Alfred felt like he was going to throw up.

"The name's Anthony Pierce."

_No it wasn't_, Arthur evaluated. The look Alfred had given him when he had told him his name and the one he gave now did not add up. The American must have recognised him too. Or he should, considering he stuck his bloody _cock_ up him. What game was he playing at? Arthur pulled his hand back quite sharply, afraid of being stabbed with a needle with a life-taking drug. Or would it be chloroform? Would they torture him for information?

"...Good, that's good. Er, so, _Anthony_," Arthur begun awkwardly, glancing at Ivan uncertainly as well. How was he meant to back out of this one? The fluid in his champagne glass started disappearing quickly. "What is it that you do?"

Ivan watched the two interact with amusement as he drank his vodka. These two obviously knew each other, they were doing such a bad job at hiding it, but why? Violet eyes moved to the American when Arthur had asked him that question and he smiled softly. "Yes, do tell. I am sorry but I have forgotten what you told me."

Alfred glanced at Ivan with a worried look before he turned back to Arthur and laughed softly, his voice shaking again. "Oh, I'm a lawyer. Like my dad, ya know. Family business and such." He waved his arm in the air like it was obvious that's what he was but was didn't want to talk about it anymore. "What about you, Harry? Or do you like to be called Mr. Taylor?" There was a small smirk on his lips now, determination set in those blue eyes.

"Harry is fine," Arthur said, curling his lips into a stern smile. He could hear his heart beginning to race, accelerating quickly. The thumping was audible in his ears. His arms came around the back of him, resting on the curve down his hips. "My business portfolio is quite wide, actually. I have a share in the property markets from my dear Father, bless his soul. I head another engineering firm. Personally, however, I specialise in Logistics."

_That's funny_, Alfred thought, _'cause in Italy you told me you were a fashion designer._

Alfred pressed his lips together, not letting his thoughts slip past his lips and his feelings towards the small Briton in front of his were becoming a huge swirling mass of anger, lust and hurt. "That's nice. Honestly when I see you engineers at work and hear you start talking I get lost." He gave a charming smile and tapped his head softly. "All law up here you know? No real room for science and such."

Alfred tilted his head towards the Russian when Ivan asked him a few questions and he answered happily, then glanced at the silver watch on his wrist and smiled. "Wow. I'm sorry guys; I really need my smoke now. I didn't have one all day since my wife hates the habit." Alfred slipped a hand into his pocket and fingered the box of cigarettes he had bought before the event in-case anyone that might know something needed a smoke break. "Care to join me, you two?"

He watched as Ivan shook his head and gave Alfred a small smile. "No, I do not smoke, I told you earlier." Alfred laughed softly and nodded.

"Of course, of course. I forgot." No he didn't. Blue eyes slid over towards Arthur. "What about you, _Harry_?"

Alfred has a wife? Arthur gulped and looked at his ring finger. The band on his finger shone brightly in the well-lit room. A lump formed in his throat. Even if Alfred was not here to kill him, even if he was innocent - _he had a wife_? He was married? Maybe that was why Italy happened. What if he had been anxious about getting married? He ran off to another country to have sex with an unsuspecting but nonetheless willing Brit to solidify his mind on whether or not to go through with it. He caved in and got married. God, was that why?

He felt sick.

With those striking blue eyes upon him, Arthur could barely look away. He had dreamt about those eyes. They haunted him every time he had quiet time to himself. They interfered with his personal life _and_ with work - and now, they were either going to flip his shit or cause him a great deal of trouble. Arthur did not smoke, but he sighed and nodded. "Yes, of course, I'll come with you. You don't mind, do you Ivan?"

Ivan shook his head and finished his drink, taking a step back from the two as he smiled that warm haunting smile. "No, no. Please, who am I to deny two men their simple pleasures?" He told them he would see them later that night and moved to find another drink.

Alfred turned to Arthur and smiled. "Meet you in the Garden outside? I have to go talk to someone quickly." His blue eyes twinkled as he turned, not even waiting for Arthur's response, and moved back over to the lovely tanned woman in the red form fitting dress. He leaned over and whispered something softly in her ear, her eyes moving quickly to look into his as she grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

Alfred smiled down at her and kissed her forehead, whispering something again.

The Briton had stopped and started staring. It was a good thing that Ivan had already moved on, because his behaviour was certainly suspicious. Devastated eyes watched the scene, landing on the woman. She was beautiful. Not of the typical descent he would link to organised crime or for shadowing a person - but maybe that was precisely the plan. They could get someone indescribable and mostly invisible to stalk his every move.

Or maybe she genuinely was Alfred's beautiful wife, which he cheated on with him. Or some other combination to that effect.

Either way, his romantic wish that maybe - just maybe - Alfred and he would meet again and begin a whirlwind romance was already ripped and in tatters. Arthur sighed and thought about his options. First, he could escape and risk being stalked still and eventually killed. Or he could stay, have his heart ripped out and also have an even higher percentage of being killed.

Well, he figured he might as well learn the truth. He moved in the direction of the door to the Garden swiftly, dodging the people in the crowd. He would not look back at Alfred and that beautiful woman. To think that all this time he might have been lusting after someone that was _taken_.

(_Oh. Who was he to talk about 'cheating'_?).

-x-X-X-X-X-x-

It was actually quite beautiful out tonight. It was warm enough that a person would only need a thin jacket to keep perfectly warm. The garden was quite amazing, it had many different varieties of flowers and trees that it almost looked like a small atrium while small lights had been strung up on the bushes and tree branches to give it a sort of fair-tale like look.

Arthur stood quietly, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world as he stared up at the twinkling stars above. But inside he was a nervous wreck that was ready to strike at anything that even showed a tiny sliver of threat. His head jerked and he glanced to his left when he heard the bushes behind him rustle, his hand twitching to reach for his firearm.

He was about to call out before something big and heavy slammed into him, knocking him over while the object—No, _person_—landed on top of him and pinned him expertly, forearm pressed against the Briton's slim throat holding him down expertly.

As the pressure was exerted down firmly on his throat, Arthur's eyes widened and he stared up at the assailant. It was lucky that no one could see them from here. He could scarcely believe it, but it seemed he was right. Alfred was trying to kill him. Alfred, or Anthony, or _whoever the Hell he was_. He opened his mouth to object - to say something of worth before Alfred could get the chance to complete a finishing blow - but nothing but air and a slight hiss came out.

Then he realised where his arm was. It was trapped beneath his body. An idea sprung into existence at the back of Arthur's head.

Blue eyes glared down at him coldly, but inside the American was screaming at himself and everyone else in the world. "Alright. Just who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?" He growled softly into Arthur's face, teeth baring slightly as he pressed his arm harder against the Briton's throat squeezing Arthur against the ground and himself. "Have you been following me? Cause don't think I haven't seen you." If Arthur had been following him this whole time, it now made perfect sense and he wasn't going crazy.

It was difficult to speak when Alfred was pressing down on his throat, but Arthur managed to rasp something out - out of pure objection to what Alfred was saying. "Follow_ you_? You're the one that's been following me! France, Hungary, Greece, fucking all around Eastern Europe? Who the _Hell _do you work for? Is it the Russian?" Arthur growled through almost gritted teeth.

His fingers dipped into the back of his jacket, in-between it and his trousers. He touched something metallic.

_Bingo._

There was an unexpected movement, and something with a rounded tip was pushing up against Alfred's rib - jabbing painfully on purpose. Blue eyes widened as a smirk started to form its way upon Arthur's handsome face as he fingered the trigger. He had the upper-hand. "..._Check_. See? _You can't fool MI6_."

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><p><strong>Once again, let me empathise – we're very devious writers. What seems to be may not be at all. <strong>_**Or is it?**_

**Plenty of clues for the future here. No idea when the next chapter will appear though – Tenkuno is actually visiting me in England for the next few weeks, too. I'd say not June, but early July (my birthday maybe? Exciting).**

**Tenkuno: I'll be in England! Yay!**

**Either way, hope you've enjoyed it.**

**- Tenkuno and DS.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Tenkuno - So sorry it's late. Please don't be mad! We love you!**

**(First Tenkuno came to England to hang out with me and my friends, and now she's planning her -more official- wedding. Benefit of the doubt, ladies and gents).**

**You were going to wait for the chapter, but since AO3 isn't letting me post anything on my account (freshly made, woop), then lucky you lot get it first!**

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><p><strong><strong>Chasing Shadows: Chapter Four

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><p><strong>July 28th29th. Moscow, Russia.**

Blue eyes went wide as Alfred stared down at the face that had plagued his mind the past couple of months. His mind was going a thousand miles per minute in four different directions. What the hell? What the fucking hell?!

"M...MI..." He gasped. An... an Agent?! But he would have been informed if there had been another agent on the trail... wouldn't he? Why wouldn't he have known? Why...? No. Questions would have to wait. He narrowed his eyes and pressed further down, not even wincing with the cold metal of Arthur's gun digging into his stomach.

"Prove it."

Arthur gave a 'tch' noise and pressed the gun upwards a little bit harder, threateningly. He narrowed his eyes - here he had captured one of the enemy and they thought they had a right to question his authority?

"Why the Hell should I? You're the one that's protecting a bunch of bloody kidnappers, you twat - why should I do what you say?! Your boss want proof before you shoot me down? Sod off," the MI6 officer said before he glanced around hastily. How was he meant to dispose of this person, when there were people so close nearby. Not to mention, he would be good to gather evidence and information from - but he was on his own here. It wasn't like he could lift the damned man! "..._Dammit_..."

Alfred growled when the man refused to show proof, which meant he was faking. He knew he would have been informed if the British were in on this as well and he huffed slightly then smirked. "Little liar. Should have known, all the good looking ones end up dirty." He shifted slightly so that the gun wasn't pressed so badly into his gut, but he kept his glare hard.

He moved a hand up to Arthur's throat, his wide large hand able to wrap around the white slim throat easily, and he gave a small squeeze. "What are you bastards up to?"

Arthur was in a rut. Ever since he had discovered Alfred here, he became confused beyond what was sensible. He needed to think of what to do, but he just could not get to grips with what was going on. _Alfred_ was above him - the man that he had longed for, for so long, and had reappeared – and of all times, it had to be now. For _this_.

Now, he was calling him a liar for apparently not being honest about being an MI6 officer. Please, what are you supposed to say as proof?! He did not carry I.D. on him just in case everything went badly today and he was taken hostage. Which was exactly what might be happening now. Fuck, just when he let down his guard!

As his throat was squeezed by fingers he had learnt to appreciate for the last few weeks, Arthur gave out a frightened rasp - trying to make sure he could keep breathing. He gritted his teeth and glared upwards at the deceitful demon that had, all this time, double-crossed him. "...Haven't you read the fucking news?! What do you think I'm up to?!"

He scooped his spare arm between their stomachs and grabbed Alfred's other side. Since the American was not expecting an attack from the same side as the gun was pressed, he gambled on being able to take him off-guard. He rolled them over, and found his purchase on top of the American - whose hands still constricted around his throat. "_I'm looking for the bloody politician's daughter, you prick_! Where is she?!"

Alfred let out a soft gasp when they were flipped and he grit his teeth, angry at Arthur for getting the upper-hand and at himself for letting the Briton have it. "N-News?!" He hadn't had time to read the paper, let alone fucking English papers, so he snorted and tightened his hold on the man's throat. He could so easily crush Arthur's wind pipe. With one strong grip it would be over, or he could at least have Arthur seriously injured.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't.

"Shit," He ground out harshly and the hold on Arthur's neck loosened, but didn't fall away.

During their scuffle they both hadn't heard the quick snap of heels against gravel coming their way. It surprised them both when Angie rounded the corner - her hair whipping back as she aimed a gun at Arthur.

"CIA! Drop your weapon and move away from the man!" She barked in such an authoritative tone that even Alfred was impressed. Her eyes didn't leave Arthur as she moved closer and called out for him. "You alright, Alfred?"

He felt himself starting to nod but quickly answered. "Yeah! But watch out, he is armed!"

At the authoritative command and the shouting of a familiar word, Arthur knew he was defenceless. He could only extend his hand and drop the gun. They had him locked in two potentially fatal holds. Why had he never considered that he might have a partner?!

It was an acronym, but three little letters made Arthur speechless and comply without fighting back any more. C, I, and A. An idiot would not know what those letters meant, but anyone else would be in the know. He gave a breathless gasp, and he looked down at Alfred. That complex man had belonged to another agency - not a gang member that was after his life for meddling. No. That couldn't be true.

"...w-we're... on the same side..." Arthur murmured under his breath, eyes wide and truthfully fascinated. He never knew. Neither of them knew. He did not mutter those words to secure his freedom, but because he could not believe it. Because he was _so relieved_.

He was a good person. The man he had become attracted to was a _good person_ - and Arthur could barely take his eyes off of him.

_Christ, he was as handsome as he remembered. Even more so, now that his colours were vivid - now that his form was solid beneath him._

"_Alfred_..." He said, testing it on his tongue for the first time in weeks.

Angie quickly moved over to the two of them and grabbed Arthur's arm, hauling him up and off of the American with surprising strength for such a small woman. She moved Arthur's hand behind his back and pressed the gun against his neck, moving him out of the way so Alfred could get up. She watched as the blonde sat up, and then rubbed at his eyes with a growl.

"You okay, Al?" She questioned softly, keeping her hold on Arthur while trying to make sure her partner was alright. When he waved at her lazily, she smiled slightly.

"Yeah, I'm good... I just think I got dust in my contacts. Stupid things."

When he had rubbed them red, he finally stood and frowned at Arthur, his body much more relaxed now Angie that had a hold on him - but there were still signs of caution in the way he stepped towards the two.

"Who is he?" He heard Angie ask and he snorted as he had to quit looking at Arthur's face because it just brought on too many emotions.

"He says he's an MI6..."

"Are we believing that?"

"_I'm right here_," Arthur sighed, reminding them how rude it was to be speaking about him right in front of his face. He supposed that it probably did not matter to them, though he thought he would at least speak up. Especially because they were swaying against believing him. This was ridiculous - even if they did let him go, they would not trust him, would they?

Arthur all but ignored Angie for now, focusing on the American in front of him. His heart wavered, trepidation beginning to work its way up his spine - his willpower burning for Alfred to trust him. He tried to stay professional and not regard him too fondly, but... there was something about him. Something warm and exciting and—_all of this sodding time, he had slept with another agent without knowing_. It seemed that Alfred was just as unaware, too.

Tearing his eyes away, he scanned the area thoughtfully. "...Lady, Gentleman—I hate to disrupt you, however... we're still on enemy land. For the good of your covers _and_ mine, we should take this somewhere else."

They both looked at Arthur for a minute before they glanced at each other and seemed to carry on a silent conversation between themselves. Then Angie nodded and started to move, keeping hold on Arthur tightly.

"We will head out the back. You alright alone?" She asked Alfred softly and waited until he nodded before she started to force Arthur to walk along with her. She moved her arm around his waist and under his jacket, making it look as if they were just a couple going for a stroll, smiling when they walked past people as she dug the tip of the gun into his back.

"Let's get a cab, shall we?" More talking to herself than asking him as they moved through the gardens and off towards the street.

To Arthur, this was, actually, humiliating. He had never been caught before. Arthur tried to keep a straight face for the passersby, and he wrapped his arm around Angie's shoulders to help with that illusion. Even if he _had_ been working for the wrong people, he would not have a chance to hurt Angie - she would hit the trigger before he could wrap a hand around her neck and squeeze. Arthur kept his eyes forwards, not trying to look around to see what Alfred was up to. If they were to trust him, he had to go along. At least he gave them good advice, to remove themselves from the vicinity.

He had to admit, though, a second failed mission was not exactly good for is record. Things seemed to go tits up so often nowadays.

Angie raised her hand quickly and before long a cab stopped in front of them. Angie moved Arthur in first before sliding in right next to him. She quickly told the driver in Russian where he needed to take them before she sighed and leaned back against the broken leather seat of the car, moving a hand to pull through her hair.

"MI6, huh?"

"Well, unless my elaborate training and fieldwork has been a very powerful and pointless hoax, then yes. That's exactly what I am," Arthur sighed, and sunk down in the seat with her. Brilliant, just brilliant - the mission was affectively aborted because he was secured by an, more or less, ally organisation. He was so annoyed with himself, but then again... he never would have predicted it. Seeing _him_ again. What a jam in the cogs.

Angie watched the streets go by before she heard her phone buzz quietly and she moved to open her clutch. She sighed as she slid the unlock button across the screen and held the phone up to her ear. "Did you leave the party already? What about trying to find more leads?" She bit her lip and crossed her legs as she listened to the other person babble in her ear.

"Just because there was a slight hitch doesn't mean—" Her perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed when she was cut off and she huffed as she listened. "But Alfred—!" Arthur could distinctly hear the other male's annoyance, and the yell of 'where did you even get a gun?!' from the other line.

Arthur tried to keep looking ahead into the traffic, pretending that he was not paying attention to their conversation. Though he was absolutely certain that Angie must have known that he would never _not_ listen in, if he was who he said he was _or_ if not. He patted his lap gently, pretending to be a regular citizen that the taxi driver was transporting around.

_So_, he thought, the agent next to him was not allowed firearms. That meant she was not a proper officer. If it turned out that they _weren't_ CIA, as suspected, then Arthur would most probably be able to overpower her and take ownership of the guns. The conversation did not seem to point that way though. For a strange reason, Arthur found himself trusting them - even if they did not necessarily trust _him_. Though perhaps that was just because of Alfred, and what they had shared for that brief romp in Italy. He _wanted _to trust him.

She huffed softly next to the Briton and nodded to a question the other line must have asked even though they couldn't see her. "But—" She was cut off again and Arthur could see her perfect pink lips starting to wobble. "You don't have to be a jerk about it. Our cover wasn—" She stopped again and sighed heavily, nodding again with a roll of her dark eyes.

"Yes. I understand. Yes, Alfred. Okay, I get it. Bye."

Grinding her teeth, she slammed the phone down her lap and glared out her sides window.

Alfred was giving her a hard time over something, Arthur further evaluated. There was no points for what they were arguing about - it was quite obvious that he was the proverbial spanner in their works. However, he could not tell from the call just what the trouble between the two of them was. Was Alfred telling her off for how she acted, or was he complaining at the failure of their mission _because_ of him? Arthur checked out the view out the window absently. It was hard to tell, sometimes, what to do in situations other than ride it out. If he tried to escape now, it would create a wealth of trouble.

Typical really, what if Alfred was not the sort of man he thought he was after all? He _was _in-character on their date, wasn't he? Was he still in-character when they had sex?

Tricky, tricky...

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><p>They were quiet the rest of the ride. When they pulled up to the curve next to a decent looking hotel she reached over and paid the man, thanking him in fluent Russian before she slid out of her seat and into the cool night. She moved over to Arthur's side and opened the door. "Come on." She muttered, not even threatening him with the gun anymore.<p>

Arthur stepped out into the road and straightened his tie, appearing prim and proper as always. As the taxi begun to drive away, he started to follow Angie. He cast a look about the front of the Hotel, taking in the structure of the building. If worst came to worst, he needed to find ways to escape. He was always on the job as an officer. He couldn't afford not to be.

Stepping ahead of Angie, he did not stray too far away. He got in front and opened the door to the hotel up for her, ushering her in politely. Manners were still important, even in times like this. He then joined her by her side, and looked at her expectantly to bring him to their room. The silent between the two of them, however, was bordering on painful.

She stalked over to the elevator and jammed the up button with her thumb, tapping out an erratic tempo with her high heel. When the elevator chimed she quickly waved her hand and then took hold of Arthur's own as she pulled him through the open doors and mashed the 'Door Closed' button roughly. The doors slid closed with a soft ding and soon they were moving, each of them quiet while Angie fumed.

"So, what's your name?" She asked suddenly, not even looking at him.

"Harry Taylor - my alias, at least. Or if you would rather, Arthur Kirkland. Take your pick," Arthur stated, not too nonplussed. He felt the urge to casually place his hands into his pockets but thought better of it - he didn't want her to feel threatened that he might attack. That said, what was he meant to do when she had his gun? "May I extend the same question to you?"

She bit her lip slightly when he asked and glanced off to the side. "Oh, Wow." She laughed slightly, her cheeks colouring a bit as she looked up to see what floor they were on. "Err... I don't think... I'm actually supposed to tell you that. I don't know if Al... Erm. I don't know if my partner has cleared you yet."

She ducked her head and clicked her feet together three times as if she were Dorothy wanting to go home, then she let out a huff and looked Arthur right in the eyes. "You can call me Angie. There. That's all I'm giving you."

"Angie? It's a sweet name," Arthur mentioned. A lot could be told with a name. Considering that she was clearly of African descent, he wondered whether she was half-American or her family had lived in America for generations. Probably the latter - she was working for the CIA, after all. They were patriotic by blood and cause. Also, thankfully, she slipped up and told him their stance on him, too. Undecided. Not to mention, Alfred was clearly in charge. Angie, dear, time to read you like a book. "You seem nervous."

A perfectly plucked and arched eyebrow rose at his statement and her eyes narrowed when she glanced over at him. Wrong thing to say. "Why would I be nervous? You are the one that has currently been taken into custody. If anything you should be the nervous one." She gave a small sigh when the elevator finally chimed and the doors opened for them, her taking his arm and pulling him out of the box. "Come on. Let's get going before I get chewed out again."

He should be the nervous one? Confident girl. Arthur theorised that there was a possibility that this was a ploy - that she was actually deceptively strong and skilled, and that she was the leader of this escapade. It would not be the first time he had come across a woman wearing the trousers on the field, and hopefully it would not be the last. Arthur held his head high, knowing that there was no point in being difficult at all. He glanced down the corridor and smiled at the other couple further down who were just going into their room as well.

When they got to a door, room 475, Angie shifted and started to hunt through her clutch, easily producing a small key card which she used to open the door and guide Arthur into. When he was completely inside she shut the door and moved to turn on the over head light.

Arthur was greeted with one of the messiest sights he had most likely ever seen. Pants and shirts were strewn about the floor in what looks like a hurry, while a pair of bra and panties were hung by the radiator in order to dry he assumed. There were plates stacked on the desk and the queen sized bed was a disaster of rumpled sheets and laptops.

"I forgot we left it like this..."

Arthur blinked, suddenly questioning their credibility as being international agents purely from the state of room. How on Earth did someone work in these sorts of conditions? He took in the sight, from the rustled sheets - a single bed between them, he noticed - and the occasional spot of underwear. Arthur opened his mouth to comment but then decided not to nitpick. They would not exactly be too happy with him if he did.

A memory came to mind, and Arthur gave a slightly bitter laugh. He carefully navigated a few more steps in, managing to find some free space after he gently kicked a bottle of hairspray out of the way.

"Reminds me of the morning after my Stag Do..." Arthur tittered, before he rolled his eyes. His - uninvited - brothers had absolutely trashed his house that night. He woke up with a sock on his—Never mind. "Are you sure you and Alfred aren't a couple?"

"A Stag what?" She frowned and she quickly moved over to make the bed at least a bit more presentable, shoving the laptops over to the side as she pulled the sheets and comforter over the mattress. At his question she raised that eyebrow again and stood up slowly, giving him a long and almost knowing look. "I never said we weren't... and even if we were why does it matter?"

"A Stag Do—It's, erm... What is it—Balchelor Party? You know, before you get married," Arthur murmured, before he gave a shrug and a quick glance down to his hand - the third of four fingers in particular. His heart then wavered, before taking a thud when he heard what Angie said. He looked up, acting indifferent. "Oh, no reason. Perhaps I was continuing my own train of thought. And it _may_ matter. What if I, well... I don't want to interrupt the sanctity of a relationship if, say, I wanted to act?" He gave her a considered look, though he already knew it was not exactly her that his attention was fixated on.

That eyebrow remained raised as she watched him silently. After a few moments she rolled her eyes and started to take off her high heels, muttering about how men were all the same. "I see, so you would 'act' right after telling me you were married? Smooth, sir. Smooth."

She then moved to the desk and started picking up the dishes, moving to leave them outside the door. She shut the door with her hip and moved back into the room to watch Arthur, a bored almost annoyed look on her face. "Why do you men think that just cause you're good-looking, women will immediately fall into bed with you?"

Arthur looked at her blankly, before he had to place his hand in front of his mouth to hide a small snigger. That worked a lot easier than he thought it would. Either she was still being deceptive, or she genuinely was not good at this. You had to avoid presumptions - assume that you are wrong until you are given enough information to be _certain_. Time to coach the child. "Two things; Firstly, I'm divorced, not married, I thank you. In fact, I've been comfortably divorced for several years. Also, may I state, I was not exactly referring to _you_." Arthur explained, before he quirked a brow and placed a hand on his hip. "...You think I am good-looking?"

She stopped short at his comment and pulled back for a minute, the psychologist side of her starting to take over the minute he told her that it wasn't her but... "Oh." She blinked for a moment and then slowly sat on the bed, her leg crossing naturally as looked Arthur up and down.

"When..." She turned her face to the wall and thought for a minute before turning back to him. "Did your wife leave you because of this, or was it mutual?"

"Are you trying to psychoanalyse me?" Arthur asked. Well, she had some nerve. He positioned himself against the dresser, since he was not exactly comfortable enough with her to take a seat right beside her on that bed. He considered her for a moment, wondering whether he should answer. Finally, he gave another indifferent gesture.

"I… left her. Though I suppose you could say that it was mutual. We're friends still," Arthur said, before he crossed his arms and let his expression harden. "I'm not going to talk about this with, effectively, a total stranger."

"Mmm... Alright." She nodded her head and switched the legs she was crossing before letting a tiny teasing smile on her face as she started to take down her hair. Dark brown hair spilled down and over her tan shoulders, she looked much younger with it down. "So, if my partner were to come and ask you a few questions would you be as closed off as you are now?"

He scowled. His expressions were easy to read, and it was clear that he was not exactly happy with what she had said. He sighed and rolled his eyes, beginning to be bothered by what she was saying. "Don't assume. I would answer questions provided they were the right ones. It just so happens, however, that you are asking things that are _personal_ to me, and I am not comfortable talking about them. Hell, I don't even talk to my friends about the concerns of me and my ex-wife. So kindly keep out of it."

Angie's smile grew at Arthur's obvious annoyance and she wiggled slightly to become more comfortable. "Have I struck a nerve, Mr. Kirkland? Please do forgive me." Her tone not at all sorry. She even laughed slightly when her phone buzzed and she answered it. She listened and nodded while the other person spoke and then glanced over at Arthur with a questioning look.

"He checks out?"

Her lips pursed as if she were thinking of something but quickly went back to listening. "Uh huh. Alright. Also, you're never going to believe what I learned. Your ego is going to swell so big." She smiled when her partner said something before she hit the end button. "Well, seems you were telling the truth. Sorry about all that." She stood up and moved over to the door, opening it and holding it open for him as she turned to look at him.

"You are free to go, Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

He checked out. Well, it was not like Arthur did not _expect _to, but everything was very anti-climatic. He stared out of the door before narrowing his eyes and looking at her as if she was missing an obvious point. "Pardon?" He murmured, before he pushed himself off of the dresser. "We're working the same group of people. We even ended up on the same target. The information both of our groups hold could possibly draw both of us into a closer conclusion for whatever we're trying to find—And you are telling me to go?"

She smirked slightly and nodded.

"Well, yeah. It's not like our agencies don't know how to pick up a phone and call each other. Actually, e-mail is better. that way we can share files and the likes." She waved her hand at the end of her sentence like she was explaining something simple. "No reason why we need to keep you here. So, you can go on your... merry spy way. Unless you _really_ want to get in my partner's pants."

"A-Actually, I, er..." Arthur stammered. He looked at the floor and realised that she had got him there. Perhaps they could share information a bit quicker face to face, but he knew how competent their systems were; or perhaps it just meant that the Americans were not willing to share any of the information they had gathered. They were notoriously secretive. He struggled to think of what to say. Was that it?! They would just break apart like they did not even meet?! "Right—N-No. No, I suppose not. Erm. Alright then..."

He moved other to the door, finding himself to be more than a little bit disappointed. He was stupid to think that something would actually happen. It could be that Alfred did not come with them back to the hotel because he genuinely did not want to see him. It was awkward running into your past one-night stands, wasn't it? How stupid could he be, hoping for some sort of whirlwind romance? That was one for literacy, not for real life.

He paused just before he left and turned to her. "If you _do_ want to speak to me, here is my hotel room and the address..." He slipped her a piece of paper. He was planning to give it to Ivan - if only he was not so dense to his pretend advances. Today was a disappointing day in general, it seemed.

...They never do turn out the way you would like them to be, do they?

She took the paper and read over it, then nodded and gave Arthur a two fingered salute. "Will do." The door was then shut in front of him and he was left with only the noises of the hallway.

Arthur stared at the door for a few seconds, before he gave a sigh and straightened out his tie again. No need to look disappointed in public. He had expected so much more, yes, but... what could he do? If they didn't want him to be around, then there was no reason for him to stay. He sucked it up and repeated the classic motto in his head; keep calm, Arthur, and carry on. He could wait till he got back to the hotel to look upset. Unsteady footsteps resulted, and he started to head off.

Goodnight, a sweet dream of his.

* * *

><p>Fifty minutes later, Arthur had travelled back to his room. He exhaled softly and let the door give a satisfying slam, before he pulled off his tie and jacket - throwing them into the chair beside the desk. He flicked the miniature and portable kettle he had bought on, so he could make himself a cuppa. Arthur flopped onto the bed, and sighed into his hands.<p>

It was three in the morning before Arthur could persuade himself to move away from his bed, after he had had a glug or two from a cup of tea and watched soap operas in Russian. He had willed himself not to think about the failures of tonight. It made his head hurt knowing that he had to tell his bosses about what happened. He ran his fingers over his face when he realised that he had no other way into the Russian's lair, as it were. Ivan Braginski had already seen him, face to face. If he started to meddle now, he would suspect something. He might have to ask for back-up. Christ! How badly had he fucked right up?!

Arthur laid on his bed and turned the telly off. The tea was long gone. The city was asleep, bar a few individuals. He licked his shaking lip and ran a hand through his hair, reacting to the stress that was now on his shoulders. He thought of his ex-wife, and he murmured a soft apology to her into the air.

"Sorry, Bel..." he murmured.

After another hour or so, as Arthur started to finally doze off, there was a sound knock at his door. When he didn't answer there was another knock, and this time the person seemed more impatient.

Arthur had fallen asleep laying upon the covers, with his clothing dishevelled but not removed. The first knock awoke him, and he groggily looked around the lowly lit room. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. The second knock alerted him. The bed creaked as he sat up, casting a glance to the door. Remembering himself, his heart started to race. Was it Alfred and Angie—Or... he swallowed at the other distinct possibility. What if he had been found out?! He looked around the room, before his heart sunk at the realisation that he had left his gun with Angie. Fuck.

Carefully, Arthur came to the door. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to fight if needs be. He opened it up. "You do realise that it is almost half four in the morning, don't you?"

Green eyes met blue as the blonde on the other side of the door frowned, hair messed up and cheeks red while he still wore the tux he had been wearing earlier that night or yesterday. Glasses were perched carefully on the bridge of his nose, almost sliding down if he dipped his head lower. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I come back?" He asked sarcastically, his voice slightly rough.

A rosy pair of lips wobbled and there was a tiny squeak in the floor as the Englishman took a tiny step back. He cast his eyes to the small alarm clock he had by his bed, time flashing back at him in dangerous red. A voice in the back of his mind screeched in excitement at the acknowledgement that _Alfred had bloody come to see him_, whereas another voice told him not to count himself so lucky. Never count your eggs before they've hatched. Arthur swallowed and he composed himself.

"Oh, it's—erm. You, I. Alfred—Is that your? No, er—Right, h..." Arthur swallowed. Composed, was it? He hated how absolutely flummoxed be was acting, bewildered. Alfred made him tongue-tied. What was he, a school girl? Certainly not a grown man, confident in his maturity. "Hello."

Alfred gave him the most dead-panned look Arthur had ever seen before he rolled his eyes upward, letting a sigh escape his lips. "Hi." They waited there in an awkward silence before Alfred cleared his throat and shifted. "Did I catch you at a bad time or something or can I come in?" There was still that annoyed catch to his voice.

That did not exactly inspire confidence in Arthur. His flustered, surprised state faded and instead the dreaded pessimist in him started to win back over - like it had for the rest of the night. He took a deep breath, and stepped backwards. He waved his arm. "Come on in, I'm sorry, it's a little bit of a mess. But not as bad as—well. I shan't complain. Would you, er—Cup of tea?" British tradition - if anything happened, time for a cuppa. Perhaps it would break some of the tension.

"Do you have anything stronger than tea? Or maybe coffee, since I think this conversation is going to need it." Alfred made his way in and glanced around at the little room, surprised by how neat everything was. The bed wasn't even messed, but seeing as Arthur was also in the same tux it wasn't that surprising. Alfred thought about sitting on the bed, but then thought against it as he didn't want to send the wrong message and moved to sit at the desk chair they had supplied Arthur with, letting Arthur's tie and jacket go on the floor.

"So... MI6, huh?"

Arthur frowned, before he bent down and opened up the mini bar. He took out a small bottle of alcohol, and he found a few glasses inside as well. He opened it up and found the stuff inside – Russian labels, ack - to be a honey-coloured whiskey, which he gave to Alfred before he sat on his bed, nursing his own drink now. His eyes drank in the appearance of the American - handsome as the day that he met him, but tragically serious. He was not going to act against the flow of the atmosphere. It was tense, awkward between them right now.

No fairytale coming together, mm?

"Don't peg this on me. You're CIA. We both lied to one another that night," Arthur pointed out, and hunched his back as he looked into his strongly fragranced glass.

At the mention of that one night Alfred's face soured slightly and he took the glass that was offered, not even bothering to nurse the drink, just knocking it back like it was a small shot. It burned his throat going down and made his eyes water a bit but he ignored it to look at Arthur.

The picture he had taken really wasn't as good as the actual thing. Even though the Briton had bad bed-head and hair in his massive eyebrows were sticking out in wrong direction, Arthur was still something amazing to look at. Alfred shook his head to get that thought right out. He was mad! He was pissed!

Blonde eyebrows furrowed when he started to feel his anger and annoyance start to slide away, so he grasped at anything he could. "So, how'd that fashion trip in Italy end up?" Biting sarcasm again.

Arthur laughed humourlessly. He could feel Alfred's accusatory tone hit him like it was solid, and he drank a gulp of his whiskey. It sounded as if Alfred genuinely regretted it. The Briton fought back his own emotions, having to stop himself from cracking from the letdown. "First mission I failed, ever. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me and swept me away. Who else finds a man in a dress suffocating and doesn't find it tremendously odd?" Arthur said, letting a smile crack through. He had regarded it as a good day, despite the failure. He supposed he had to change his opinion.

"The man I was trying to find when I met you was an informant. I didn't know who he was. Not that he was part of my troop. I won't go into why I was dressed as a woman, it's pretty trivial anyway. I..." Arthur rubbed his temples, before he put his drink down and looked up at Alfred seriously.

"Answer this for me. If I was not an agent, would you be happy to see me? Actually—no. Tell me... was... was that all acting, you fulfilling your character's role, or—Or was the Alfred that I met's personality the real _you_?!"

Alfred watched the Briton for a long moment, trying to decide if he should even answer the man. It was Arthur... At least that was the name he had told both him and Angie, but this _was_ the same man from Italy. Out of 7 billion people to run into, he had to run into him. When Arthur showed no signs of lying and the distress he expressed seemed real Alfred sighed.

"No... It wasn't an act." He leaned back in his chair and glared down at the floor while a flush stained his cheeks. "Minus the Italian crap... that was me."

Arthur's eyes softened and he gave a slow sigh. Alfred's training would have told him that it was relief. Finally, the Briton managed to struggle out a smile - his lip wobbled slightly, as he tried to deal with his emotional responses. It was fine staying stoic when you were dealing with murderers and crime organisations and so on as an alias, but this was related to _his_ real life. Suddenly everything came up rosy.

"It was me too," he said honestly, and even Alfred's scepticism did not change the fact that he was telling the truth.

Alfred shifted awkwardly, the small desk chair creaking against the movement of his large body and weight as he rested his head in his hands and shook it. "This is all kinds of messed up right now." He pushed his glasses further down his nose and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. He really should eat something.

"I missed you," Arthur mentioned, though he felt somewhat stupid afterwards. He felt like he had to cross that bridge, since everything was so tense. They liked each other so much in that moment of letting go and indulging themselves, both unprofessionally. Why did it have to change so much now? Both of them turned out to have chips in their shoulders. "I... _thought_ about you. A lot. More than a lot."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He told himself to stop talking. Alfred probably just wanted to leave and put that memory behind him. It was complicated. But at least they knew where they were - trapped in another country's grasp and their government. He would not push it. If Alfred wanted to leave and push it all behind him, the door was just there.

Alfred had been completely still after Arthur spoke and hadn't moved for a while, it almost seemed like he was going to stay like that for the whole night until he shifted and spread his hands, blue eyes peeking out from between long worn fingers. "You...You really missed me?" He kept his hands over his face so the Briton wouldn't be able to see his blush, but he could feel his ears heating up.

Arthur looked at him, shocked at the pinkness he could see. Was he embarrassed for himself? Feeling shame? Maybe he was a married man, who made a mistake. He did think so at one point; that Alfred may have been cheating on someone. It would explain his cold behaviour and his presence here. Perhaps Alfred was here to tell him to forget about it. But—Arthur knew that he couldn't. He never would.

"I did," Arthur murmured. He could not lie to him. Not after everything they went through. He squeezed his hands into fists. "I'm sorry. But I did."

"Erm..." Alfred made an awkward cough and cleared his throat and he hid his eyes again behind his hands. "You don't... You don't have to be sorry about it." Why was he acting like some shy young virgin girl talking to her high school crush?! He had already slept with the guy and Arthur was the one admitting to missing him, not _him_! Man up, Jones.

He rolled his shoulders and then lifted his head from his hands. "I missed you too!" He said loudly, almost glaring at the other in determination not to be a wimp.

Arthur's heart felt like it fell, falling several inches in his chest before rising with elation. Alfred's declaration make Arthur get up onto his feet. The American was trembling very subtly, trying to reign in his emotions. Meanwhile, Arthur was almost speechless. He did not expect that. He expected Alfred to regret everything. To tell Arthur not to pay attention to his feelings.

Now look what had happened.

He was British—He expected disappointment. Things weren't meant to go right. This was not meant to happen. But he blinked, amazed by what he heard. He slowly stepped over to Alfred's seat.

"...May—May I kiss you?" Arthur asked, climbing down and kneeling in front of the other male.

Heat rose so quickly to Alfred's cheeks when Arthur got down and asked that simple question. His entire face was crimson making his blue eyes stand out brightly, his glasses slipping completely off the bridge of his nose and only hanging by one of his ears. "I..." Why did he suddenly feel like some kind of weird Disney princess? It was most likely due to the fact that he was sitting while Arthur - being an Englishman, therefore he must be a Prince - kneeled in front of him asking him his permission for a kiss.

"Jesus Christ, man." He glanced at the ceiling and nodded quickly. "Yeah, sure. Whatever floats your boat." He gulped. This really wasn't how he had pictured meeting Arthur again going, not that he thought he would_ ever_ meet Arthur again.

They were still hesitant, tentative and careful with each other, but Arthur could not wait to live in the tension any longer. He leant up and sealed their lips together in a small, but soft kiss. He slowly pressed his hands on the centre of Alfred's chest, not terribly sure if he was allowed but gave Alfred plenty of time to react before he did. He closed his eyes, telling himself that he was kissing the man he had been obsessing about for months. Here he was. He was right here. He couldn't quite believe it. A hand touched his cheek.

It was awkward.

It seemed like Arthur had the power to turn everything in Alfred's mind to mush. Like a kid getting their first real kiss, Alfred kept his eyes wide open while his mouth continued to remain clamped shut and unresponsive against the Briton's thinner lips. When he felt a slight scrape against their lips he cursed himself for not applying some kind of chap stick or something and prayed Arthur didn't mind.

Why couldn't he do anything?!

Was he really so head over heels for this stranger that he was reduced to a sack of unresponsive, jittery jello the moment Arthur admitted to missing him. He let out a slight whimper against Arthur's lips, cringing when it turned out louder than he had intended.

Arthur broke it, sensing that something was wrong when Alfred made that noise. His unresponsiveness was not a good sign either. There was a pregnant silence between them, bulging with unsaid meaning and anxiety. He rose to his feet, emerald eyes scanning Alfred's to search for a sign of what was wrong. Other than his heart not being in it, of course. His own chest felt like it was clenching.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, shuffling back a few inches to give Alfred space. Perhaps he shouldn't have done that. He thought it was consent. Alfred had not exactly sounded enthusiastic even then. Dammit, he was stupid. _Read the signs, Kirkland_! "There's someone else, isn't there?"

"What?" Alfred breathed out, quickly looking up at the Briton when he felt him move away. Shit, he messed up! He shook his head wildly not able to find words quite yet to tell Arthur how wrong he was, his glasses flying off the one ear and onto the floor with a soft clatter.

Alfred stood up suddenly, making the chair topple backward against the force and he moved to grip Arthur's shoulders tightly. "Look, I'm—I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, okay?" He sighed and glanced down at the floor, wishing he could bring back the Alfred from Italy that could sweet talk and make Arthur blush.

"I'm sorry. I just... I never thought I would actually see you again. You've been more of a fantasy than reality for me and when I saw you tonight I..." He looked up into Arthur's eyes, determination set in his. "I missed you, Arthur. Your name is actually Arthur right?"

The Briton was taken aback when things started flying forwards and backwards - he hoped neither the chair nor Alfred's glasses broke in the motions - and stared at Alfred as he grabbed his shoulders. The explanation was given, and Arthur had no reason not to believe him. It was a relief. From what he had done, Arthur genuinely thought that there was something Alfred was not getting excited about, rather than a common problem with nerves and cluelessness over requited feelings.

A smile breached Arthur's lips, and his features became pleased and soft - heart-glowing air surrounding him. He took Alfred's hands off of his shoulders and he offered a hand for Alfred to shake. "Arthur Kirkland. It's lovely to meet you, Alfred... Alfred what?"

The American smiled widely and took Arthur's hand in his, gripping it tightly and rubbing his thumb over Arthur's knuckles. "Jones. Alfred Jones. Ummm... I was born and raised in the great Lone Star State, err... Texas." He blushed and glanced off to the side then cleared his throat. "Ummm... I really like dogs and action movies and in my spare time I like to read books on space. I... I really like space."

Arthur smirked, entertained by Alfred's flurried self-introduction. It was clumsy and if he had not known that Alfred could be_ smooth_ when he got it in his head to be, Arthur might have laughed and quirked a brow. As it happened, he sounded like a lovable dork. The Brit backed up and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I was born and raised in Warwickshire. Stratford-Upon-Avon, thereabouts. I read, er... when I went off to you about knitting and textiles and so on in Italy, I was not quite lying about my interest in it. I love a good story - whether it be fantasy, sci-fi, anything really. Er, I have a relatively large Doctor Who collection?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes at himself.

"Ah! Doctor Who?" Alfred grinned, his nerves settling slightly as he eased down on the bed next to Arthur. "I watch that! Who's your favorite Doctor? I really liked ten." Sitting next to the Briton he could see the small details that he had missed before. Like the small light spray of freckles over his nose, his long dark blonde eyelashes and how pale he was.

Arthur was beautiful.

Arthur lit up, pleased and excited. He shuffled over to fit Alfred on the bed with him and turned his body to talk to him without twisting his neck. Turned out that he and Alfred had something in common, other than their career, even if it was one thing out of many. His heart flitted about in his chest happily, as if it was bouncing off of his ribs. "Actually, I really like Tom Baker - maybe more than the more modern ones. Such an icon. But I have a love for all of the new age Doctors—I won't lie, though. Tennant was a treat for the eyes more than the other two. But... honestly, I really love Christopher Eccleston. Shame his time in the series was so short. I honestly can't believe anyone would skip him just to dive straight into David... It's a travesty."

It had been a long time since he had felt this elated.

Alfred grinned and nodded as he reached down and over Arthur to grab his glasses off the floor. "Yeah, I like Eccleston. He was in that British horror movie 28 Days Later, which was awesome by the way." He pushed them up the bridge of his nose and wiggled it, trying to straighten the specs. "They look okay?"

"Ah-" Arthur raised his hands and adjusted Alfred's glasses a little more, till they were positioned perfectly on his face. His palms lingers there, and their gazes locked for a second or two before they simultaneously looked away. Arthur gave a soft, pleased titter. "We've found something in common, I see."

He paused, enjoying a moment of content between them, before he had to break through the tranquillity. Arthur looked at him questioningly, not daring to be expectant. He was quite sure though how this would go. Would it go right? Just this once?

"What should we do?" He asked.

"I...I don't know." Alfred frowned slightly and scratched his head for a moment, before turning to look at the wheat colored blonde next to him. "What...what do _you_ want to do?" He could feel a flush creeping on his cheeks but continued to stare at Arthur. "What do you want out of this?"

He remembered a few months ago. Arthur thought that commitment in his job would scare him. Could be used against him. But with Alfred as an agent as well, and just as capable... he could dream, couldn't he? It didn't have to be all about coming home alive to a spouse and kids. It could be exciting and on the run. Two agents from allied agencies in love and clashing in a whirlwind of romance and passion.

Or alternatively he was reading too many romantic fiction novels in his spare time.

It was nice to have a muse to share that hope for romance with.

"Honestly, I don't care what it turns out to be. We could become a classic secret couple with dates a-plenty on the side. Retire in a few years and live together with hopes for a peaceful future. Or, if you prefer, we could have frequent and passionate one-night stands until you know for a fact that I'm only yours. Or something else, I don't know," Arthur mentioned, speaking his imagination to the air and waving a hand. "Anything you want. I just know that I am drawn to you, Alfred Jones. And I couldn't forget it. So what do_ you_ want from this?"

Alfred frowned slightly and glanced down at his left ring finger, the faint pale line around it made the American smile sadly for a moment. "I'm not really a one night stand kinda guy. That thing in Italy was kinda a once in a life time thing for me, not that it was a mistake." He quickly tried to assure Arthur, taking a chance and placing his hand over the other's.

"I'm more of a long term guy, I play for keeps. I mean I married my first girlfriend and everything."

Once in a life time thing? Arthur smiled weakly, feeling the glow of joy in his chest. Gosh, how cliché - but this was how it was becoming. What if, sometimes, the things of romances became true? He found himself looking down at Alfred's hand, seeing the pale line. So they definitely had something in common.

"Funnily enough," Arthur begun in a hushed tone, moving his left hand to fit on top of Alfred's and balling the other. "Same for me too. I mean, I have had one night stands. However... I married my first girlfriend too, as it happens. And—I would love to spend some time with you, Jones."

"You were married?!" Blue eyes widened as he glanced over at Arthur, wondering what kind of woman the man would have been interested in.

"Erm...Sorry. That was rude." He bit his lip as he glanced at the wall in front of them. "What was she like?" He asked softly, wanting to know more about Arthur's life.

"I was," Arthur said, almost taken aback by Alfred's interest. As a fellow ex-Husband himself, he would have thought that he would scoff and complain about typical ex-spouse phenomenon and move on. He frowned, recalling her. "She was a pleasant thing. Blonde, more your colour than mine, wavy hair. Excitable, insistent, _persistent_..."

She had a beautiful smile. It made the room seem a little brighter whenever she showed it. Toothless, all pink lips, but fresh and attractive. Even now it was still lovely, but...

"We met in the last year of college. She was a foreign student, I was made to look after her. We ended up becoming friends and then going to university together. I told her not to form her university choice around me, but she did it anyway, the silly thing. We got married quickly - and it was good, but. Well. There was something wrong. There's always something wrong."

He sighed and his frown deepened. It was clear by the darkening in his pupils, the twitch of his lower eyelids, that he was not enjoying the memory.

"It was me. I realised that—that I didn't feel it. I mean, I felt romantically for her. In a way, I still do. But I... not anything else. It wasn't right for me. I wasn't sexually attracted to her. I don't think I ever was. We did it, of course we did. But hardly. I didn't... God, this sounds awful but, I didn't enjoy it. The motions, the feeling, it was all wrong. Felt like I was only doing it out of obligation. Because I didn't want to disappoint her, because I knew she loved me for everything. One thing led to another. I discovered my sexuality, and, when I confessed to her... we decided that we would end it. I couldn't satisfy her, she couldn't satisfy me. Why continue?"

In his mind's eye he could still see it. The nights where he would stay awake, grieved by the fact that he cared about her but could not share her pleasures. The trouble he had saying goodbye to someone he loved, but only in one way.

He remembered the things that he was deliberately not saying and it troubled him even now.

The clash of hips. _His on his_.

"Ahhh... that's... I'm sorry." Alfred glanced down at his legs, still covered in the itchy dress pants. He knew what to say to someone when they had divorced since his parents had parted and he knew very well what to say when someone was widowed, it seemed everyone needed to say something to him when Jas had died.

But what did you say to a man who loved his wife, but did not care for her physically? Sorry you don't like boobs? Must be hard? Ugh. "You guys still talk?"

"We do. But I—God, I'm such a horrible person. I, er. I avoid her," Arthur sighed, letting his shoulders slump a little bit. He wanted to turn to Alfred and tell him to leave this story alone, and he was certain that Alfred would probably say yes and they would put it off till another time - but what was the point in that? It was good that Alfred was sticking around. He might as well know the truth before they settled in with one another.

"I used to be in MI5. She knew, but then when I started feeling... wrong... about the whole thing, I requested to be put in MI6 instead. Told her they promoted me. Ended up leaving the country a lot, so I didn't have to—to _face_ her. Hello, I loved you, but I can't give you what you want? I don't like being intimate with you. How pathetic does that sound? I still call every so often. We have occasional meetings. We jokingly call them dates sometimes. But that's all it is. Dinner. A dance."

He knew that in a way he still loved her. Hell, he would always care about her. She was special to him. But it was time to move on. He smiled lightly, before he coughed into his hand.

"Sorry. No need to bog down in this," Arthur told Alfred.

Surprisingly, Alfred felt himself smile slightly at Arthur's story and he chuckled softly and pat the Briton on the back. "No...You're not _bogging_? Is that what you called it? Nah, you aren't bogging me down with this at all. I'm actually glad that you two still care about each other, it's nice. My parents can barely stand to be in the same state as one another let alone go out for dinner together. No matter how many birthday parties their grand kid invites both of them to."

Alfred sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling without actually looking. "What you have... it may not be perfect but at least you have something."

Ah, so his parents were divorced as well. There seemed to be a lot of unhappy relationships here in their lives. If he believed in fate - which he actually more or less did, though he was sceptical of it as well - he would have thought that it was a precursor for their lives clashing now. He watched Alfred flop down and Arthur pressed back as well to join him. The line concerned him. "Something?" He said soothingly, touching Alfred's arm and brushing his finger along it gently.

Alfred turned his head to look Arthur in the eyes, with a soft smile he reached over and stroked the man's cheek. It was amazingly soft, he didn't even feel any stubble, which was crazy unless Arthur went through puberty wrong. He let his eyes wander over the man's features, everything soft and small except for the eyebrows. Arthur really was _pretty_.

"I was married." He answered quietly, thumb brushing over Arthur's lips. They were so different from Jasmina's, thin and pink compared to her lush warm red ones. "She... she died a while back."

To think that Alfred would touch him so near lovingly when he recalled his ex. It was romantic, right to the point of Alfred telling him the truth. His eyes widened. He sat up suddenly in the bed and it squeaked at the shift of weight. "Oh my God," Arthur gasped, looking more distraught than most people would be. He looked troubled as he cast a look away and he pulled his clothing closer over himself. "Bloody Hell. You must think I'm a horrible person. Here I am telling you that I left my wife because I wasn't interested in her and you—"

"—No, no!" Alfred quickly caught the man's elbow and tugged gently on it to get him to lay back down. "I don't think you're bad at all, a bit stupid to go off and marry a girl you are physically attracted to but it happens. You're not a bad person just cause of that."

He tugged more until Arthur finally laid back down. "Also, it's fine. Really. I have had a while to get used to the fact that I'm a widower."

"I'm sorry," Arthur sighed. Wow, that was information that he did not expect. Going into a new relationship with someone who had an ex-lover, gone before they could naturally part themselves. He anxiously looked down at his hands, before sighing for the second time. What was he supposed to say? Nothing condescending, he hoped.

"Was she an agent?" He asked, tiptoeing around the question 'how did she die?'. He had seen a lot of death in his job - too much - and he had become somewhat acclimatised to it; but knowing (of) one victim of their absent immortality, and attached to someone he felt _this way_ towards? It brought some pressure. He would be compared. "You're braver than I thought, you know."

A corner of Alfred's mouth turned and his smirked half-heartedly, reaching up to tug at the now poorly tied bow and unknotting it quickly. "Thanks, but it's not really bravery that gets you through it, and no she wasn't an agent."

He closed his eyes as he remembered those times. Times when he was in the military, coming home on his leaves and being with _her_. "She was from Morocco. Her family had moved to America and we met in high school... Heh... her dad _hated_ me."

Arthur regarded that news with a smile. He gathered himself up, and he shifted his legs over Alfred so his was sort of straddling his waist. Leaning down, Arthur cupped Alfred's cheek. It still gave his skin tingles just to touch him. The figment of his imagination, sweeter than he remembered. It seemed even the loveliest things had their air of tragedy about them.

"Alfred..." He murmured, before he kissed him lightly on the lips. They came apart with a satisfactory pop. "Let's not think about all that right now. I'd like to know about her. But it can wait till the morning. We could order some breakfast and go over it, mm?"

He delicately stroked that cheek of his. He didn't want Alfred to get bogged down in something dark like this. Especially right now. They were so new with one another, after all. But that did not mean he did not want to listen. Oh no.

Alfred became quiet when Arthur moved and he stared up into those green eyes for the longest time. Finally, he smirked and ran a hand down Arthur's side, fingers moving to get under the fabric to touch some skin. "Actually, it's already morning. If you haven't noticed I think the sun comes up in about an hour or two."

When his finger tips met the bare skin of Arthur's sides he hummed softly, tracing his rough finger tips over the smooth skin happily. He felt a few bumps and grooves, which he could only guess were scars and for some reason he couldn't wait to see them.

"Ah, actually. I realised that. Too busy moping about thinking that I missed my chance with you. I couldn't help but notice how abysmal the telly is, this time of day," Arthur muttered and grinned lightly - his lips barely inches away from Alfred's now. He reached back and cupped one of Alfred's hands, before he shifted it further beneath his shirt. Without so much as giving him a kiss to communicate the tenderness that the Brit seemed to promise Alfred, he rose up and sat in Alfred's lap - holding most of his weight on his legs, mind.

His shirt had started to come lose when Alfred felt the outline of his body. He pulled it out from its tucked position beneath his belt, and he started to undo the buttons - showing Alfred inch by inch of skin each time a button was seductively tugged loose. Arthur's eyelids lowered, and he wet his lips so the lamplight would reflect off of them.

"So, what were you doing in Italy? When I met you..." Arthur asked in a hushed tone. No point waking the people in the neighbouring rooms up, eh? He parted his shirt, displaying his slender collarbones.

Alfred watched transfixed and the hand against Arthur's bare side moved up and across his chest where thin, light pink scars were placed on other wise perfect white skin. "You really want to talk about that right now?" He breathed out as he traced one of the scars, letting his finger brush against a hardening nipple teasingly. "Cause I can talk work till your ears bleed, but I somehow don't think that is what you really want." He bit his lip and smirked up at the Briton, blue eyes glancing up making Alfred look almost impish.

"Partly, I'm curious to why you were there in the first place," Arthur confessed with a stray shrug, before he concentrated on the feel of Alfred's hand exploring his chest. His skin started to crawl appreciatively, making him press his body against it. He gasped, pressing his hand upon the other male's, keeping his fingers against his dusky pink nipple. Eyelashes fluttered, lips parted.

"It... Well—Will 'spying shenanigans' do as an explanation for now?" Arthur breathed. Christ, did Alfred have to look at him like that? He cottoned onto him so quickly, but then, that was the idea - wasn't it? "And, I suppose you're right. Work is not really what is on my mind. I've got..."

He stroked his hands over Alfred's chest, stuffing them underneath the fabric of his jacket - feeling the bumps of his flesh over his other clothing. Oh. Oh, he missed this body. Say your prayers before you eat, Arthur. "_God_... Yes. Mm. Other things—I've got other things. Sorry, incoherent suddenly. I'm not... not normally, er, like this."

"That..." Alfred said, almost as a whisper, as he moved to cup Arthur's face and pull the man's face closer. "That is totally fine." He smirked and then kissed the Briton, slow and deep as his hips moved slightly trying to gain any kind of friction. He let one hand wander from Arthur's face and started to pull the shirt the rest of the way down the Arthur's shoulder and back, letting the white shirt pool in the crooks of Arthur's arm while he let his hand slip behind the man.

Alfred hummed happily into the kiss as his fingers grazed the edge of Arthur's pants before dipping in slightly.

Not often that he had one night stands, but when he had them Arthur certainly knew what to do. While, somehow, this had developed into more than that, the movements - he knew - were quintessentially the same. His most recent experience with Francis told him that especially. Alfred and Arthur kissed with more than just rampant throes of attraction. He rutted against Alfred's crotch slowly, rubbing his clothed behind over where he knew Alfred kept that prize. One that he had taken, and one that he will take all over again. Francis taught him to move his hips fluidly like that.

"Mm—mmnnff..." He moaned gently into the kiss, and he tilted his head to deepen it. His tongue stroked against Alfred's lips, before he pressed both of their able muscles together, trading saliva in their gradually more heated exchange.

Arthur was making him lose all sense of anything. Fucking ninja's could have attacked right now and he wouldn't have been able to give a fuck due to the fact that Arthur was grinding his ass down against Alfred's clothed cock like a shameless whore.

Which by the way was unbelievably hot.

He had to break away from the kiss to breath and he let out a soft gasp when Arthur moved a certain way against him and caused shivers to run through his body. "Shit, Arthur..." His mind raced to thoughts of Arthur and him stripped, him pounding the smaller man into the mattress while Arthur screamed his name. Or maybe up against the wall or if he was feeling really daring he could ask Arthur how he felt about riding.

Wait...

Shit.

Alfred groaned and threw his head back against the bed in frustration, then tapped Arthur's hip with his hand softly. "Arthur...get off. I..." He growled at himself, angry that he hadn't thought to prepare for this but then again why would he even think he would need to? It's not like he had been expecting Arthur to show up or anything.

When he looked back at the Briton he couldn't help but feel guilty at the look of worry that passed over the man's face so he quickly leant up to kiss those soft lips. "I'm sorry... I... I don't have any protection with me." Why did that make him sound like a dick? Quickly he added, "It's not like I think you have some serious STDs or anything... I just like to be careful. Just in case... you know?"

"Don't worry, I understand. Saves me from having to clean up, and trust me, that's not a quick process. Hm," Arthur looked at his jacket, abandoned on the floor from where he threw it earlier. He recalled the small vial of liquid inside, which he kept just in case his flirtation/interrogation of Ivan got unexpectedly ugly. Though there was no point of that, really, when Alfred was not willing to have sex with him without a condom.

Well, it was too late to fetch some now. Never mind.

Unless, of course...

He shimmied down Alfred's body and came to the end of the bed. His head was suspended over the top of Alfred's concealed crotch, and Arthur saw that the fabric was beginning to get tight. He gave a knowing tut. He was almost there, as far as arousal went. Apt fingers rested on top of the area and massaged in a circular, swaying movement.

"Besides," Arthur murmured in a low tone, and he parted the flies to expose the zip. He fumbled to unbutton Alfred's trousers, and he brushed his lips lightly over the growing area. "No need for the full monty. There are other things that we can do..."

He gripped the zip with his teeth and tugged it down.

* * *

><p><strong>And DS whispered into the night...<strong>

**'_Authorblock'._**

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, the year goes fast. The last update was in August. Would you look at that.**

**Tenkuno is now (re)married, I'm still in uni doing nothing in particular, life is going well. Back on track! "So so so sorry this is so late! Please forgive us!"**

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><p><span>Chasing Shadows: Chapter Five<span>

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><p><strong>Afternoon, July 29<strong>**th****. The British Embassy. Moscow, Russia. **

They were put into a tiny room, cramped because of the large table and the five chairs that were positioned around it. Alfred let out a soft sigh and tugged at his tie but immediately stopped when his supervisor shot him a weak glare for the act.

Because of this meeting with the MI6, Alfred and Angie had been told to dress professionally. Something about not letting their country look bad or sloppy in front of others, but god Alfred really hated this suit. It was itchy, hot and the tie made him feel like someone was straggling him with silk.

He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and listened as Arthur and his superiors greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries before getting down to the matter at hand. He stole a look at Arthur from across the table and tried to suppress a small smile after seeing the man look so no nonsense and business like, when just this morning he had shown Alfred his impressions of all Eleven Doctors.

He wouldn't lie that his eyes traveled down a bit. Arthur looked good in a suit.

"If I might, sirs," Arthur was the first of the group to speak out. He uncrossed his legs and coughed into his hand to clear his throat, like a man just about to make an elaborate point. "Whilst I recognise that cooperation may be a far-fetched idea, considering that our defence agencies are not always associates, we certainly _do_ have reason for our cooperation at this time. For instance..."

He straightened up. "The girl I was tasked to find appears, due to the evidence I have gathered, to have been abducted by the same traffickers that Mr. Jones and his associate are investigating. I assume this, because traffickers are my prime suspects and I was pointed in the exact same direction that Mr. Jones has been. From here, we might be able to cooperate to not only find out the fate of said daughter - of whom, sadly, I do believe to have been sold or killed by now - and at least, potentially, we could take down a league of traffickers. This would naturally be beneficial to both of our countries."

With that, Arthur laid back into his chair. He eyed Alfred quickly, letting his green eyes lower down and observe Alfred's trousers, before he looked at their supervisors. "Of course. You already know that. Which is why you are here."

Alfred glanced at Arthur quickly, amusement showing in his eyes before he rolled them and let out a loud sigh. "Well, thank you for stating the obvious." He flinched when he felt Angie pinch his thigh hard and grinned when the CIA supervisor shot him a red hot glare. "Mr. Jones..." Oh! That tone! It was the tone that told him to shut up and play nice.

Pffft. With Arthur? Not a chance.

"I'm just saying. We all know why we're here, so why make some long winded speech about it?" He leaned back in the old metal chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "What we need to talk about is what are we going to do now?" Alfred didn't even glance at Angie when he heard her groan softly, he kept his eyes right on Arthur even as his supervisor began to speak.

"As Mr. Kirkland has stated, it does seem that we are following what looks like to be the same person or persons." He opened the manila file in front of him and spread the papers on the table for everyone to see. "According to Agent Jones, him and Mr. Kirkland have been running around each other. Both of our agencies have been sending people to more or so the same locations these past months, and I can safely say that the CIA does not believe that's a coincidence. We would very much like the cooperation and assistance of the United Kingdom's MI6 in this endeavour to take down this group."

Arthur looked at his supervisor nonchalantly. Of course, he was personally biased to want to stay with Alfred and his somewhat troublesome assistant, but it was all down to his supervisor's decision at this point. He observed the middle-late aged male scowl before he eventually gave a grave nod.

"I must agree. For the benefit of this task, we shall combine our forces for now. I expect my agent to share information with you, as much as I would expect yours to share information with us. It is imperative to both of our nations to keep up communications. However," Arthur's supervisor spoke, though addressing his sentiments purely to Alfred's supervisor. The agents were beneath them on the hierarchy, after all. "There is a condition. Or rather, a request. I'd like to ask Mr. Kirkland to leave for a moment. If you would like to send your agent out as well. Or not, perhaps he should hear it too."

Alfred glanced at his supervisor out of the corner of his eye and watched as he nodded and signaled for Alfred and Angie to stay put while they dismissed Arthur with a simple wave of the hand. Alfred watched as Arthur left and quickly sat up straighter in his chair.

Arthur appeared somewhat perplexed, before he left the room. He knew better than to question his supervisor. Perhaps he could pester his partner about it later, regardless. He waited outside, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the lobby of the UK embassy, Moscow. He gave a polite look at one of the workers, while he idly tapped his thighs.

Back in the room, Alfred was uncertain.

"Umm... So is there something wrong with Mr. Eyebrows or something? Why'd he have to leave? He been known to do a little double agent-ing?" He was joking but the small sting of cold in his gut made him nervous. God, that was just what he needed. A love interest with shady intentions.

The British supervisor sighed and looked at the other two seriously. "As I mentioned, this is a request. Arthur Kirkland is under review. We are monitoring his performance, because we believe that he may be unsuited to the field any longer. He is capable enough to handle this mission, but we believe we may remove him and give him a lesser position if the results of this review are not lucrative." He casually explained.

"I hope that Mr. Kirkland's abilities are a help to you more than a hindrance, and similarly, I hope this does not affect our arrangement." A forced smile came from his slightly cracked lips.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and watched Arthur's supervisor smile while his own cleared his throat and seemed uneasy about this. "Are you seriously trying to set us up with an agent who isn't exactly doing his best right now?" Even though he had what was far more than a crush on Arthur, Alfred couldn't help the annoyance he felt at the MI6 right then. "On a case where girls and a few young boys have been kidnapped, drugged and sold and in worst cases killed. You...You have put an agent who isn't qualified to go out on the field?"

"Mr. Jones..."

Alfred scowled at the British man as he felt Angie's hand on his arm and his superior warn him.

"He is qualified to be on the field. We also have another set of agents working on similar cases, but it would complicate things to assign them to you. We will, however, give you their information as well - if you are vague to our Mr. Kirkland about the information's source," the supervisor tried to explain.

"Kirkland is perfectly qualified. He is one of our best agents. Never failed a mission before the one before this, where his mark was assassinated in Venice. We're pegging this disruption in his abilities down to stress, or other personal problems he is not telling us. We're only entertaining the possibility of letting him go, or enforcing a long-term holiday for him. Does this settle you, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred watched the man in silence before he rolled his eyes, glancing off to the side as he crossed his arms. 'Whatever. He just better not mess this up." He would never say it in front of Arthur, but it worried him. What if because of his 'feelings' for the Briton, it made him blind to some sort of flaw that Arthur had that led to them to not being able to catch the people behind this.

His supervisor gave him a look that told him he was going to be lectured after this, which he really didn't want but he had to voice his frustration somehow. "I believe Mr. Jones is just stressed from the case, and the idea of adding another thing on that list might be a bit much..."

Alfred snorted. "Babysitting eyebrows is fine. I can handle it."

His supervisor waited for a minute and then nodded towards the MI6. "Then we are in agreement."

They shook hands. An agreement was successfully arranged.

* * *

><p>After a few words with his own supervisor prior to the initial meeting, Arthur was released and allowed to rejoin Alfred and Angie. Arthur coughed into his hand. He had to be serious. "I won't pry into what he was asking or telling you about. I'm too wise to bother with that. I know you won't tell me. So, here is a critical question. Where do we go next?"<p>

Angie shrugged as she took a sip from the can of soda she had gotten from the vending machine and glanced over at Alfred. "Honestly, after that party we really didn't have much... it was all kinda riding on that." She frowned when she saw her friend clench his fists. She knew Alfred was angry at himself for losing that lead. She just hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid to get ahead again.

"Maybe we should go back to our hotel, have a nice rest and then all have dinner? All work and no play after all is bad for the mental health." She raised her can in the air as if stating her word was law as a psychiatrist.

Personally, Arthur was a man that liked to get stuck-in, not the social type. When offered the opportunity to socialise with new co-workers or to get straight to work, he usually opted for the latter. But considering the hidden situation beneath the surface of this dynamic, Arthur couldn't really tell them no. He gave a sullen nod.

"Why not? It would give us a chance to get to know one another. A critical point if we're going to have to trust each other..." his eyes trailed from Angie onto Alfred. They lingered accidentally. He had certainly gotten to know Alfred recently. Their activities only the night before were reflective of that enough.

Alfred frowned slightly and nodded. "Yeah...Dinner sounds good. I saw a place down the road that looked kinda like a Mc—" He winced as Angie slapped his arm with her iPad, glaring up at him hotly. "No! We are not eating at McDonalds again! We are in a different country! New culture and everything! We should have something Russian."

Her eyebrow twitched slightly when Alfred groaned.

"Shouldn't we pretend to assume our previous characters a little bit longer? If Ivan and any of his men saw us acting as totally different individuals, they would become suspicious. If they_ are_ involved in something out of the ordinary, then they would probably have access to someone else who would be concerned about us. It could compromise our covers," Arthur tried to explain, hoping the two of them understood his ideas.

Besides, he quite liked the idea of being Harry Taylor again. Flirtatious and to-the-point. "Would give us an excuse to have a fancy meal and dig into the expenses. Not that I would condone doing that often."

Both the other agents didn't look very enthused by that idea, they glanced at each other and made faces. Angie sighed and fiddled with her left ring finger as she nudged Alfred in the side softly. "That means we would be married again..."

The blonde let out a sharp laugh. "Please. Like you don't want a piece of this, Mrs. Pierce." He laughed louder when she tried to punch him in the face.

"Oh, I see," Arthur said, observing them and their behaviour. Always on the job. He realised that they seemed like a reluctant friendship on the rocks. Or maybe they knew each other too well to find each other attractive in a relationship sense. Ah, either way. "Does it make you too uncomfortable?"

They both blinked and stopped their antics to look over at Arthur with identical owlish stares. "Uncomfortable?" Angie questioned as Alfred tilted his head. "No, I'm quite fine with Alfred. Friend or pretend rich husband, he's just sometimes an idiot."

"You're just mad cause I like the maid and gave her your diamond tiara."

Brown eyes rolled at the American and she huffed. "That's the last time I watch Gentlemen prefer blondes with you." She made another face but didn't argue when he put and arm around her waist and gave a small squeeze.

A reluctant, if dorky friendship. Arthur found himself becoming an observant admirer as he watched them interact with one another, although he felt a spike of jealousy pierce through him at the squeeze. How long would it be before Alfred let the public know he was that friendly with him? Platonically of course. Perhaps never, given their separate institutions. However will they be able to make this work?

His hands itched with want to tug that hand around his own waist. Arthur's eyes became somewhat hooded as he thought, before he gave Alfred a look. "You're the man in charge here. I would like to know your input, sir."

Alfred watched the straw haired man for a minute before shrugging. "Yeah, I guess. but I would rather go to dinner as Alfred Jones than that rich stuck up prick. That way I can wear jeans or something." He gave Arthur a eyebrow waggle before he stretched his arms up high and his back made a loud pop.

Angie glanced over at Arthur. "Do you mind going to dinner as Arthur Kirkland, Mr. Kirkland?"

Jeans? For dinner? Arthur gave Alfred a querying gaze. He had thought that perhaps the cultured male he had met in Italy was rather more civilised than that, but apparently not. Well, there's was a new relationship - there would always be unexpected details beneath the surface.

He sighed and gave a nod. He supposed he might have been thinking too much into it. He couldn't help but be cautious. "Arthur Kirkland it is. Shall we?" He smiled, gesturing towards the way out.

They had finally managed to agree on a place that had good Okroshka and Pelmeni so Alfred was happy, especially now that he didn't have his annoying three-piece suit on. He felt much better in his Marines sweatshirt, which Angie told him never to wear out on a mission but he was tired and couldn't give two shits, and baggy pair of holey jeans.

As they were seated Alfred ordered a coke in broken Russian and grinned at the two others while Angie politely ordered some seltzer water.

A vodka for the only Briton of the party. Why not? It was not like they had any serious work to do for the rest of the evening. He lifted his menu and peered critically at Alfred over the thick page. Eventually his thoughts could not be held in. He had always been the sort of speak his mind.

"You're far too under-dressed for this restaurant, you _do _know that, don't you?" Arthur pointed out, insisting on his sharp attitude in public with Alfred. Whatever happened behind closed doors would stay there. While Alfred wore that, meanwhile, Arthur was still in a suit - a dark brown one with a vest and a red tie. Wearing things like this certainly made him appear a lot older than he actually was.

Alfred huffed softly and glared at Arthur as his can of coke with a glass of ice was brought to him. "I'm sorry if I'm not dressed to go to the Ritz, Brows. Some of us like to be comfortable when we eat." He poured himself some of his coke and took a loud sip, groaning dramatically at the taste. "Hot damn. Sweet nectar of the gods. I missed you."

Angie shook her head and smiled turning to Arthur. "Alfred here was on a strict diet these past couple of months. His six pack had turned into a four pack, and god knows we can't have that," she laughed loudly when Alfred tried to swat at her and tell her to shut up, the American's cheeks turning a bright red.

"A diet? When did he stop? I would have taken that diet plan back, lard-arse that he is," Arthur said firmly, thanking the waiter when he came back with his vodka. He had to get Alfred back for the jive against his eyebrows. How many times was that by now? There was keeping their cover and then there was just being plain rude. What a bloody farce. He leant back in his chair, smirking proudly. "Hard to imagine you with a six-pack."

It was just japery, of course. He gulped down his vodka, picturing what he knew to be beneath that shirt. His lips had been pushing against it happily only last night.

Alfred's flush seemed to spread all over his face and down his neck, even his ears were turning an interesting shade of pink. When Angie was brought her water he growled and pushed his glass away, asking the waiter for a glass of water on the side. "For your information, to be in the service you have to be pretty good shape, and I've served my country for over five years now. Thank. You. Very. Much."

"I'm sure you've served your country very well. A few cakes and plenty of chips," Arthur muttered, before he shot Alfred an accusing, prying glance. He lifted his menu, only to disguise his mouth from Angie, as he gave Alfred a reassuring smile beneath it. Underneath the table, he patted Alfred's knee. "Don't take it to heart, Mr Jones. You should know I'm just teasing you."

The American hunched his shoulders and sighed as they ordered, he picked something with mostly vegetables in it and kept to drinking his water for the rest of the time, his coke sitting off to the side not one sip taken after the first.

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><p><strong>Evening, July 29<strong>**th****. The Hotel.**

Alfred was quiet on the ride back to their hotel, with Angie and Arthur making all the conversation as he stared out the window. When they arrived at the hotel Angie insisted that since she was the only girl that she should get the single room, to which Alfred just shrugged. "I don't mind," He muttered and he really didn't. Being with Arthur wasn't actually taxing, but at this moment he just wanted to go for a run.

When Arthur and Angie had finished swapping luggage and key cards he gave a small wave as she headed off towards the elevator. He waited until she was out of view and up a few floors before he turned to Arthur, entering into their now combined room. "Hey umm... I think I'm going to go to the gym or something. Okay?"

Now, once they got to the hotel, Arthur had expected something different than this. He had expected the clothes to start flying off, their mouths to be pressed against one another's, their eyes gleaming with something fierce as they passionately ground their bodies together. But that did not happen.

Alfred had been acting funny all day, and Arthur's rational mind could not work out why. When they came inside, Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked at Alfred, scrutinising his behaviour. What was this all of a sudden?

Did Alfred think he did not notice that he had not finished his dinner, and that his coke had gone abandoned? Really...

"You are a bother. Come sit down, right now." Arthur said, going over to the bed and patting its surface. "You _do_ know that I was saying those things to help Angie not be suspicious of us, don't you? Your stuff about my eyebrows hurt just as much."

The American frowned as he ignored Arthur's insistence for him to sit and moved over to his small duffle bag, digging around until he pulled out a pair of baggy basketball shorts and started to undo his belt. "Yeah, I know." He threw Arthur a smile but it was fake and tight as he started to pull his jeans off and slip into the shorts.

"I'm just going to go to the gym for a bit. I'll be back before bed."

"No. No, you will not," Arthur said, standing up and striding over to Alfred. He grabbed his wrist, stopping him from moving anywhere else once the American had stuffed himself into his shorts. "I said something I shouldn't have. You're not fat in the slightest, Alfred. You must know by now how much I love your body. What about last night?"

After he had sucked him off, Arthur's lips had kept adventuring - from the pits of Alfred's stomach to the dunes of his chest and the folds of his lips. He appreciated him, and everything about him.

"Do you think that was a lie?"

Alfred glanced away from Arthur's stare.

He had always been way too sensitive about his weight ever since he was middle school and his stomach was rounder than the other kids and his arms and legs stockier. It also didn't help that every time he was hurt his mother would make him food so he would learn to eat when upset. Ugh.

"Look... I'm just..." God, he sounded like some teenage girl after her boyfriend had innocently said something about her weight. He really didn't want to be like this in front of Arthur. The man who was amazing, sexy, slim and really funny when he thinks no one is listening. "Sorry. I know you didn't mean it, I'm just being an idiot."

"You are," Arthur said clearly. There was no point bullshitting him - Alfred had a fine body, and he was lucky to have gotten himself into such good shape. He was not stupid - with his deductive nouce, Arthur easily could tell that there was something in Alfred's past that triggered this insecurity. But now that he was perfect, especially for his own personal tastes - why would he _lie_ to him when he was being, frankly, ridiculous?

"But it's alright. Look, I did not mean anything by it - and I don't think that you are fat at all. Or anything less than lean and handsome," he emphasised, grabbing hold of Alfred's shoulders. "I am going to kiss you now."

Alfred sighed as Arthur reached up and pressed his lips against Alfred's, when the American didn't respond with anything other than just letting Arthur kiss him, the Briton only kissed a little bit harder – wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck and pulling him in. He'd be damned if he let Alfred stay this negative about himself.

"Ummff!" Alfred tried to protest for about five milliseconds before the thought of Arthur pressed tightly up against him overload any insecurities he might have at the moment. He gripped Arthur's hips tightly and kissed back, loving how he could taste the slight hint of vodka still on Arthur's tongue.

"You're an idiot..." Arthur breathed once he dragged himself out of their firm kissing. He grabbed hold of Alfred's cheeks, narrowing his eyes and practically glaring at the other male as he stared at the lips before him, wanting them to be well and truly sore after all the kissing. "But you're _my_ idiot. Have you any idea how much of a fucking _stud_ you have been all day?! Don't make me repeat that word—Nasty American term."

Alfred smiled slightly and wound his arms around Arthur's waist. "Aww, come on. We ain't that bad. Now look, I'm not over being upset just cause you told me not to be but, I guess you're right—no point moping about it when I've got you right where I want you to be, huh?" He kissed the shell of Arthur's ear then blew on it. He thought back to Italy. Suppose Russia could be a place to remember too. "Hey. How fast do you think we can get you naked and on that bed?" Alfred's hands were already down the back of Arthur's slacks, giving his ass a squeeze.

"Seconds," Arthur answered, growling and shifting one of his hands to grip at the back of Alfred's neck tightly. His teeth gritted together and he took a step backwards towards the bed, arching his bottom against the American's palms just enough to be encouraging. His spare hand had already unzipped his trousers, and soon they had tumbled onto the floor. "Do you know how much I have _missed_ you, Jones? You were so good last time. If you don't deliver the same again, I might berate you for it."

Alfred snorted. "Gee, nothing like a threat to get me ready to go." He removed his hands and pushed Arthur down onto the bed. He smirked as he moved to straddle Arthur's hips and pushed him the rest of the way down. "Now, please tell me we are prepared. Protection?" Even though he asked, he was almost to the point where he said screw protection. If Arthur had an STD, well, he would live with it!

"It's more the lack of proper lube that I'm worried about. Better get your fingers good and moist, shouldn't I, Alfred?" Arthur said, hurrying their movements because he was ready for a little bit of alone time. All day he had to stare at Alfred and pretend he did not care for him any more than as a colleague who he had just met. All day he had to fake being cold towards him, when all he pictured was the man he already _knew_ he was. How much he _teased_ him like that.

He hooked his leg over Alfred's, and he ground his hips upwards to seek Alfred's body, crotches touching and making him groan loudly. He smirked, and he threw away his jacket, carelessly tossing it to the floor. The shirt went in next to no time too.

"I don't know whether to ride you good and proper to teach you how to behave or to let you have your bitter way with me however you would like," he purred.

Alfred moved back from kissing Arthur's neck to stare down at the man with a barely contained grin and a raised eyebrow. "My bitter way with you? That sounds awful. I would rather have my nasty way with you if that's okay, though I really don't mind the idea of you riding me." The idea of Arthur sinking down on him, taking his cock into that tight heat inch by inch.

"A-Ah," Arthur groaned, grabbing Alfred's thigh and squeezing, pushing his confined cock against the other layer of fabric. Eventually he simply had to push away and drag down his underwear, tossing it away along with the rest of the clothes and letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. Normally he would sort those out in a more convenient manner, but bugger it. Who gave a damn right now?! "How much have you thought about this, Alfred? Did you ever think about Italy?"

Alfred watched happily as Arthur got rid of his underwear and whistled at the look of Arthur in absolutely nothing. "No," he answered with a cheeky smile, grabbing Arthur's wrist and pulling him on top of Alfred. "Why would I when I have a very good imagination and now have the real thing here?"

Alfred stuck his tongue out slightly and pinched one of Arthur's bare ass cheeks.

"I meant before, you moron. When you didn't know if you would see me again," Arthur said, voice going hushed. They had slowed down, getting to the more loving, caring side of the whole engagement. He stroked his naked thighs against Alfred's clothed ones, drawing him in. "I had sex not terribly long after you. It just was not the same. All through him, I thought about how you make me feel. How much nicer you felt on top of me. How much nicer you smelt and firmer your thrusts were. Everything."

Sadly, the only part of that sentence that Alfred caught onto was the fact that Arthur had slept with someone else during their time apart. Not like they had been a couple then or anything, but it still made him a bit angry and the sharp stab of envy and possession made him growl. "You slept with someone else?"

"…I'm a sexually active male, Alfred. I told you that I don't sleep with people often, but that I do. Besides, I'm _telling_ you. It wasn't _right_ with them like it was with you," Arthur sighed. Of course he would focus on that bit. Arthur reminded himself that Alfred was quite a focused lover. Alfred loved only his wife till he lost her, and since that there had only been one occasion where his heart - and dick, he supposed - strayed elsewhere.

Meanwhile since leaving his wife, Arthur's sexuality had been thrown about somewhat. No, he was not a stranger to having sex with no strings attached.

"Look. I've already told you that what I had with Francis is nothing to me, especially in comparison to this. I was lonely Alfred, and I was missing you. Never thought I would see you again, let alone _feel_ you."

"Francis?" Alfred snorted and then without any warning flipped them over, his clothed hips grinding down on Arthur's. "Guess I don't really have to worry when you went with a guy named Francis." He pushed Arthur's hands up above his head and easily pinned them with one hand, he was much bigger than Arthur and he used it to his advantage.

"So, tell me Arthur..." He had a smirk on his face though he meant nothing mean by his words. "Did you ever call out my name when he fucked you?" Alfred let his free hand lower and cup Arthur's balls, rolling them in his palm softly before pressing a thumb between them. "Did he make you want it as bad as I did?"

The sudden switch shocked Arthur, though it was not unwelcome. His gaze hardened and Arthur soon glared up at the ceiling while he felt Alfred touch him, rubbing his thumb against his ball sack and making his thighs shudder from sensitivity. He tested Alfred's grip and found himself reaffirming how strong it was - Alfred had the brute strength that he lacked, but normally he made up for it with his evasiveness.

"Francis _Bonnefoy_. He was French. He fucks _well_. You're not _jealous_, are you?" Arthur said, casting Alfred a challenging glance now that he realised Alfred was not as hurt as he first suspected. "He didn't make me—mm—Want it as much as you do. No. But he knows how to pleasure me. I wonder if you're anywhere near as consistent?"

Blue eyes narrowed and he let out another irritated growl before tightening his hold on Arthur's wrists and moving down, laying rough licks and nips along Arthur's white chest and stomach. By the time Alfred reached Arthur's hips, the man was covered in red hickeys which by morning would be a starling shade of purple.

"Fucking French. Think they know everything about love and sex." Alfred bit softly at Arthur's hip bone before glancing up, his glasses shining slightly in the light. "Tell me. Did he make you scream with his mouth?" Then, quickly, Alfred's mouth was over him. He swallowed Arthur's cock and didn't stop until he felt the head bump against the back of his throat.

Arthur's eyes bulged in shock, not expecting Alfred's actions. As the American agent took him in, he became enticed by the sensation and staggered by how quickly Alfred could get used to doing this - there was no gagging, no coughing or wincing at the taste (though Arthur was careful with himself. Perhaps his level of attention to personal hygiene could have been seen as obsessive).

Wasn't this the first time Alfred had done this with a male? Or was there more than meets the eye? For someone so inexperienced, Alfred made up for it with _enthusiasm _and _drive_. Arthur gaped, mouth wide as he looked down only to see Alfred's mass of hair and eyes closed in concentration.

"O-Oh m—!_ No_—No—Not t-this time...!" he had to confess. There_ had_ been a time where Arthur was so _astounded and pleasured_ by Francis. But that occasion was not one he was proud of. Nor too willing to share.

Alfred felt the slight pull of his gag reflex and pulled back, making a soft popping noise when he let the head slip out. But he didn't let Arthur have any time to think as he used his free hand to wrap around the shaft and start to pump, pulling back to foreskin as he moved in to lap at the exposed head of Arthur's cock. "Not this time, Mmm?" He gave a soft suck before wrapping his lips around it again.

"H-He..." Arthur gasped breathlessly, eyes narrowing and his vision blurring because he simply had no need on concentrating on that - not when Alfred was touching him, making his skin crawl from within. Heat stored in his gut, arousal making his penis so firm while Alfred's lips and tongue rolled over it. "He was... my first man."

Blue eyes narrowed and he pulled away from Arthur's leaking cock, pushing himself up so that he was eye level with the Briton. "Let's _not_ talk about this guy while I'm trying to make love to you, okay?" The slight twitch of his left eye gave away that the last comment annoyed him a bit.

Arthur observed Alfred with his eyes wide and glistening, though they lost their sparkle a little as he processed that Alfred was annoyed. Very so, even if he hid it. He supposed they would end up having to talk about this later.

He sighed and forced a smirk onto his lips, giving Alfred a nod before slipping his hands out of Alfreds grip and kissing Alfred chastely by taking his cheeks into his hands. Better not let the magic slip away. He urged Alfred in by expanding his legs to slot him in, and pushed their noses together. "You taste like—" Arthur laughed. "Never mind. Come on. Do me."

Alfred smiled at Arthur's laugh and pressed his face into Arthur's neck, humming happily at the feel of warm skin against his face. He was this close to whispering those three very heavy words against Arthur's white skin, but he didn't dare. Not when things were so fresh and new, not when those words could easily destroy everything they had.

Instead he opted to take in a large breath and nuzzle Arthur's ear. "You smell good." Good smelling partners were important for Alfred. Jas had always smelled great, a wonderful mix of Tide mixed with her shampoo and body lotion. Arthur smelled like fruit and lavender. His skin smelled fresh and clean, even when there was a thin sheen of sweat on him, and his hair had the vague scent of something sweet. Strawberries?

Alfred made another pleased sound when he took another sniff of Arthur's hair. "Leave it to me to find a man who doesn't just use the first cheapest shampoo they can find." No cheap-ass shampoo smelled that good and would leave Arthur's hair so shiny and split-end free.

That hair, healthy as it was, looked messy beneath Arthur's head - fanned out as the Briton stared up at the man he had been chasing for months. Theirs truly was the sort of romance you would hear about in novels - although they would have to work hard to keep the flame alive. It was alright. He liked a bit of a challenge.

"You like my… smell?" Arthur said, querying Alfred and his taste. He hooked his legs around Alfred's hips and shoved himself upwards, grinding his naked self against Alfred's clothed body. How was it that he was completely bare and Alfred had yet to take an article off?

"The time to be cute is later. Right now I just want _this_," he emphasised.

"B.O.S.S.Y," Alfred clucked but ground down against Arthur's length. "That is what you are." He sat up on his knees and quickly pushed his gym shorts and boxers down his thighs, his cock springing out. Alfred quickly kicked the shorts and boxers off the bed, leaving him in only his sweatshirt and glasses. "Do we have lube? Or even a condom?"

Right now he could honestly care less about the later one.

Arthur watched Alfred enthusiastically, happily drinking in the sight of the American's cock bounce as it came out of his underwear. There was an overwhelming sense of pride that appeared in Arthur's chest when he considered that it was _him_ that had got Alfred hard like that. It was _him_ that made him that painfully aroused. His tip was swollen red already. "Lube? No. Condom? No –honestly Alfred, we're in the same situation as we were in last time. I am _not_ letting you go this time."

Alfred bit his lip for a minute trying to think of something that wouldn't be painful for Arthur and then he clapped his hands loudly and scrambled off the bed. "Ah! I got it!" He went right for the small bathroom connected to their room and rummaged around for a bit before coming back out with a small bottle.

"Hand oil." He did his best Vanna White impression while show casing it to Arthur. "Made from only the best hemp around." He grinned as he climbed back onto the bed and uncapped the bottle, pouring the thick oil onto his fingers. "And... I was thinking we try the pull out method?"

Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment upon his return, while he waited for Alfred to climb back into position with him. His legs right now were spanned wide and welcoming, all of his privates on show for Alfred to see. He was holding the back of his knees up, making sure that his legs did not get in Alfred's way. He scrutinised Alfred's response, though. "The hand oil may work. Just check it doesn't have any alcohol in it. I'll have to shower after too. The pull out method though—Alfred, last I looked, I couldn't be impregnated. I know you are worried about me being a new partner and everything, but I am clean. I honestly do insist."

Alfred colored slightly and quickly busied himself with spreading Arthur's legs wider. "Sh-Shut up. I knew that!" He fumbled a bit before his finger circled Arthur entrance a bit roughly. Blue eyes met green for a moment of uncertainty, "You ready?" He asked quietly.

"Oh, don't treat me like I'm a blushing new bride—" Arthur said fiercely, lifting his hips up because he knew from Alfred's inexperience that he had to have some help. Considering their last time had been the first he ever had with a male, Alfred was good, but Arthur did not want to leave any chances. If he got even so much as a slight limp in the morning, Angelique would be suspicious. "—Come on and touch me, if you think you are hard enough, lad." Although, his words contradicted his thoughts.

Alfred scowled and slipped a finger inside the Briton to shut him up. "Lad? Please. You are only four years older, unless you want me to call you 'Old Man' and start making jokes about how you're a cradle robber then I suggest you shut up." He crooked his finger slightly and smirked slightly at Arthur.

"Oh you selfish—" Arthur might have insulted Alfred, had the American pushing his finger up into him had not silenced him. When was the last time he had someone other than himself doing this? April, in France. Careful as Francis was, he had not been a match for those fingers in his mind. Now he had a reminder, he could see whether he was right for holding onto Alfred's memory for so long. His eyelashes flickered as he shut his lids softly and just breathed as he let Alfred work.

The American hummed softly, pulling the finger out slowly and easing it back in. He watched Arthur's face and smiled when the man seemed to ease slightly, enough to let him start working two fingers inside. "How's that feel, baby?" He froze slightly at the nickname. Shit, what if Arthur thought that was weird or too sappy? Before the Briton could comment he spread his fingers and started to stretch him.

Arthur reacted to the spreading of Alfred's fingers, giving a few pleasured grunts and opening his legs up a little bit more. His body was building with need again. He could feel it brimming inside of his body, misbalancing his senses. He opened one eye to stare at Alfred's attractive, concentrated face. "Baby?" He breathlessly chuckled. "It's a bit early for the pet names, isn't it? It's good. It's a good pace, big boy."

Alfred blushed all the way to his ears at Arthur's remark and moved to hide his face in Arthur's knee, giving the soft skin there a small kiss as he started to move his fingers a bit faster. His other hand moving to Arthur's cock, softly running his fingers along it. Damn it, he was going to give Arthur one he would never forget, blow that stupid French guy out of his memory.

The caught breath emitted from Arthur would have made Alfred's knees knock if they were close together. Every so often Arthur would let out the smallest moans of appreciation, particularly when the fingers stretched or plunged in deep. Alfred was greeted with a withered glance up through peridot lenses every so often, and a tiny peak of a smile.

His hips jerked upwards to meet the fingers touching his cock gently, while his arse muscles worked not to tense around Alfred. Arthur slyly moved his leg around, and ground his shin against Alfred's crotch to get somewhat of a vengeance. "Miss me, Jones?" Arthur hastily muttered.

Alfred purred when he felt Arthur's leg rub against his crotch and let his hips rub against it for a minute before inching away. "You have no idea..." He whispered wrapping his hand fully around Arthur's member and gave a dry pump as he added a third finger gently. Blue eyes burned with lust as he felt Arthur's tightness clamp down around his fingers.

"Shit, Art." He gasped, all the blood from his brain moving south.

"Believe me, Alfred, I_ do_ have an idea..." Arthur groaned, lightly shifting to match the pace of Alfred's fingering - which also made his penis rub against the rough surface of Alfred's hand as well. The Briton gave a mild, pleasured noise and he reached up, cupping Alfred's cheek. "You. You with the handsome jaw bone. Come down here and kiss me."

Alfred smirked as he leaned down and brushed his lips against Arthur's teasingly, only giving the man feather light kisses. "Handsome, huh?" He moved to the side and nipped at Arthur's ear before letting out a breathy laugh. "Only Handsome?"

"What else would you like me to say, mm?" Arthur purred huskily, stroking his hand against Alfred's cheek. He massaged the bone beneath his flesh and moved up so his fingers were carding through his hair. "I could write a sonnet to your jaw-bone. Let alone the rest of you."

Alfred laughed and kissed Arthur's ear again before he moved up and gave Arthur a deep and dirty kiss, his fingers picking up their pace quite a bit as he plundered Arthur's mouth with his tongue. He pulled away with a smirk and licked at Arthur's jaw. "How about you just let me fuck you senseless instead?"

His saliva tasted of Alfred now, and Arthur could not think of a single thing that was better. He gave Alfred another sharp kiss, before his lips erupted into a smirk. He kept working himself against Alfred's fingers, but he saved his energy for the _real_ hard-work. "Yes, Sir. Or should I say, business partner."

"Bleh. No work talk." He kissed Arthur again before pulling his fingers from the Briton, he leaned back hastily pouring the oil into his hands and slicking himself up.

His breath quickened slightly when he gave himself a few hard pumps. "Mmm..."

"Don't jerk yourself off. Penetrate me, you prat," Arthur urged, laying back. He pulled his legs back, keeping them held against his chest so Alfred had plenty of room to work with for the moment the two of them became one. Arthur closed his eyes and recalled the last time they had sex. He supposed this time, since Alfred was his partner, this was now _making love_.

Alfred licked his lips, gave his member one last tug and then lined himself up with Arthur's entrance. "Okay." He whispered, more to himself than Arthur, and slowly started to inch in. In no way was he going to cause Arthur pain. He wanted this to be nothing but pleasure for the both of them, but Jesus Christ Arthur was tight and it felt good.

He braced one hand on Arthur's bent leg and kept the slow pace, no matter how much it killed him.

"A-Ah..." The build-up of pleasure Arthur had gathered while Alfred had been lazily fingering his arse to loosen his muscles started to increase into something deeper when Alfred started to push inside. The pace was excruciatingly slow - slower than he was used to - but it was very good in ensuring that there would be no problems with it the next day. Arthur's eyes closed, and he found himself concentrating on the feeling.

He could feel the fatter underside, the vein on the left side - his left - and the large head pushing past his rings of muscles. Arthur's mouth started to part, and he found himself enticed by the sweet, sensuous stretching feeling of being pushed apart to the brim - far more wholly than mere fingers. His mouth felt dry after a few lowly pants, aroused as Alfred moved in. His own cock bounced a little as he was penetrated slowly, till he was opened right up till Alfred's base was pressing against his bottom cheeks.

Arthur took a few moments of silence. "_Oh_..."

Alfred remained perfectly still after he was fully inside and watched Arthur carefully. "Good Oh?" He asked and moved down so he could lean his weight on his arms, one placed on either side of Arthur's head. "Mmm... Wrap your legs around my waist."

In a way, it felt like the same setting. Except this time, he had not just fainted due to a far-too-tight corset, the temperature was mild to cold rather than blisteringly hot, and the layout of the hotel room was somewhat different. But it would do. It was all they needed. Obediently for once, Arthur let his legs wrap around Alfred's waist and he waited. "It's just like back then," Arthur reminded Alfred too. Same position and everything. It helped remind him that he was with the man who graced his dreams for so long.

"Yeah... Sorry. We'll bring out the crazy, kinky stuff later. Right now, I just want to do you." Alfred then moved his hips back, his cock sliding out only to be pushed back in at a leisurely pace. God, this felt so much better without a condom. Not that he'd condone such a thing usually. He kept his pace slow, loving how the heat in his belly grew at a steady pace and made his skin burst with goose bumps.

"God, I missed you."

"No, Alfred..." Arthur said, reaching up and taking Alfred's cheeks into his hands once more, like he was framing his face. His eyes focused and preserved the picture - those slightly pleasure-distant eyes of blue and the wordless fascination, and all of it for him. Nice as being a little kinkier might be in the future, there was not necessarily a need for it. "...There is nothing wrong with being us."

Sappy, yes. But Arthur felt it to be true. He kissed him again while they rocked, Alfred pushing in and out slowly and steadily as Arthur took it without a worry.

As they kissed Alfred could feel his glasses slip further down his nose, but he didn't care. All he cared about right now was the man below him and the way he subtly arched his back when Alfred pushed in a certain way or how those large green eyes would go half mast when he started to speed up.

Damn. Arthur was beautiful.

Alfred let out a soft groan and his hips bucked forward at a faster speed.

Arthur could see sweat building on Alfred's brow as he started to work himself in and out of his partner. A bead ran down the length of Alfred's glasses frame, and Arthur wiped it away with his forefinger, before he plucked the glasses away, breaking their kiss. "You don't—mm—need these up close, do you?" Arthur asked, before he set them on the table-top, and waited a few seconds before regaining the rhythm of Alfred's pace. They stretched their legs and worked together, trying to drive one another to the edge.

Alfred shook his head when Arthur took his glasses and let out a loud groan when one thrust made the heat shoot through his body. "N-No. I don't need them for... close," he picked up his pace and tried to angle his thrusts just right in order to find that one special spot.

He lowered his head and started to suck at the Briton's neck, not caring that he was leaving marks where a collar wouldn't hide.

"That's good. I like seeing you like this... so refreshing," Arthur said softly, eyes raking over Alfred and his glasses-liberated face. The blue looked much clearer now that it was not through glass. Strangely bigger too. He groaned while his neck was sucked, and did not think at all as Alfred's tongue swirled across his skin and his teeth left tiny indents. He could feel Alfred continuously pumping in and out of him, and his body responded with heat - his flesh must have tasted so warm in Alfred's mouth. "Though do not get rid of your glasses. I like having you with both as my man."

Alfred huffed a laugh but it came out raspy and rough. "C-Cant. They're prescription..." He let his fingers run through Arthur's wheat-colored hair with one hand while his hips pushed fast and deep into him. He let out a deep groan as his arms started to tremble, from holding up his weight and from the intense pleasure spreading through him.

"I meant lenses, Alfred," Arthur murmured, stroking his smooth hand against Alfred's cheek in a gentle manner. His other hand rubbed Alfred's back, feeling his shoulder blades and gripping onto his shirt, while Arthur watched Alfred beginning to shake. "Dear? Dear, hold on." He encouraged. "I'm close too—Let's just. Together, shall we? Lad?"

Pleasure hazed blue eyes narrowed as one hand moved to grip Arthur's hip a bit roughly and his pace picked up, plowing into the Briton with brutal force. "Don't c-call me Lad." He breathed harshly as he lowered his head to take one of Arthur's nipples in his mouth, sucking it and rolling over it with his tongue.

"What? A-Ahn… ah," Arthur asked, blinking at him. It had been a while since he had one of his affectionate nicknames be rejected - in fact, had they ever? He had only used pet names like that on people he really cared about. Like his ex-wife, and now Alfred. He couldn't keep the scowl on his face though - Alfred simply would not let him. Arthur moaned senselessly as his nipple was engulfed, and he gripped Alfred's shoulders tightly. "_Alfred_… y… yes—w-why is that?"

He gave the abused nub one more lick before he moved up and devoured Arthur's mouth, pulling the Briton's tongue into his own mouth and sucking loudly. He pulled back with a gasp, a particular thrust causing his entire body to shiver. "I'm... Mmm! ...I'm not a child." He kissed Arthur's cheeks and temple, then moved to his ear. "Hngh—Oh! Screw the age gap."

He then hoisted Arthur's hips higher and thrust in, pushing against that one spot that made Arthur see stars.

Arthur proceeded to let out a very loud, very effeminate cry which he most certainly was not proud of. What a torturous man. He could feel Alfred's pace slow a little, but only so his thrusts could be stronger and more focused - in a particular place. Alfred learnt so quickly how to please him, though he might have just been a natural. Tipping his head back so he was gazing at the ceiling, Arthur panted while Alfred kept filling him in and rubbing his length against the deep spot within him. He could feel the pre-cum drizzle down his own cock and the heat in his gut burn stronger. "Oh gosh, oh gosh—gosh—gosh..."

Alfred couldn't help but let a small smile out when Arthur started to chant and he gladly kept that angle and pace, just waiting for the Briton to become completely unravelled. "Come on, baby." He groaned into Arthur's ear, a sweat bead rolling down his temple. "Tell me how much you like it. Tell me—Tell me how much you _need_ it."

"You're a bit kinky for a secret agent, aren't you?" Arthur gasped while he rhythmically joined him. His eyes were gazed over with arousal and Arthur could feel the heat disperse from within him and into that pool of hot energy, ready for his orgasm to come. Led by his gut, Arthur's movements hurried a little in utter _urgency_. "Y-You want to—ngh—hear it? I _need_ it, Alfred. I really _love_ it and I would like it very much if you'd _cum inside me_, already. You blissful—delightful—ah—utter—_prat_..."

"F-Fuck!" With a few more thrusts Alfred stilled and gasped as he came inside the Briton, hand moving down quickly to pump Arthur into completion. "C-Come for me, too, Sweetheart."

Arthur was barely milliseconds after. His orgasm hit him just before the sensation of hot cum filling him up, and he gagged at the air after he had finished. Their movements slowed rather than stopping suddenly, and Arthur's shoulders sagged before he looked between them. Ribbons of cum were on both of their abdomens and Alfred's hand, and he could feel a soft, warm sensation inside of him. Bliss. He put his head back on the pillow. "A-ahh..."

Alfred sighed happily as he pulled out limply, cum oozing out and down Arthur's legs as he moved further away. He tugged off his sweat shirt, wiped at their stomachs, his hand and Arthur's legs with it before chucking it to the side. Alfred rolled his shoulders before laying down next to Arthur and pulling him close.

"Fuck you and your hot ass slang and accent."

"Finally, _finally_ you get naked," Arthur breathed, letting his eyes scan the other male's body. Satisfied, the Briton pulled him in for a short kiss before letting Alfred be. "...So... Al... hah," he panted, out of breath from their activities. "You don't like my pet names? Also, I am barely older than you. It's only four years."

Alfred snickered and nuzzled his nose into Arthur's thick messy hair, letting out a happy sigh as his body slowly calmed down. "No, don't get me wrong. I love pet names," he let his fingers trail up and down Arthur's naked sides softly. "Trust me, if we are able to keep doing this without our bosses kicking our asses, I'll give you so many names you'll shoot me."

He paused for a moment to see how he could explain this. "I've always been the youngest. My brother is only older by a year but he likes to point it out a lot when I'm 'acting up' as he calls it. And all my cousins are way older so... Just any kind of name like kid, squirt or buddy is kinda… bleh."

Arthur simply gave a snicker and he rolled over so that his entire body was facing the ceiling - his arms reached towards the sky, resting his head on his hands. "That so?" He said interestedly. "I suppose I could emphasise. My brothers are absolutely _hellish_ with nicknames and all that malarkey. But to be honest... pet names. Strange English tradition. 'Pet', 'Love', 'Dear', 'Mate', heck, 'Duckie'. I've heard a young girl or two being called that in my time."

Saying that, Arthur felt so much older than he actually was. Maybe 27 was quite ripe an age after all. He gave a soft snort and passed a look to his side. "Alfred. What made you become an agent?"

Alfred smiled at the term Duckie and did a small shimmy before answering Arthur's question. "Umm, mostly cause I wanted more work. After serving for so long they actually do have to send you home, surprise surprise." He let out a soft noise and glanced up at the ceiling. "I didn't want to go home, so I applied for a job that would keep me busy."

Then he grinned and turned, waggling his eyebrows at the Briton. "Plus, free travel and lodge in foreign and exotic lands? Yes, please."

Alfred was very much the adventurous type. He reminded Arthur of a young man, keen to travel the world and see all of its glory. Himself? He was more of an at-home man, honestly. He liked the travelling but it never satisfied him more, in the past, than being at home. Now though, he supposed he had lost his way. Something wasn't quite right recently. He wondered if his ambitions were straying.

"Personally, I was scouted. They were impressed with me - their talent scout - and they sent me in for an interview. Signed me up on the spot, and there I was working for my Queen and my country. Bizarre thing. I enjoyed it though - I don't think I could work another job in my life. There's something about the investigation that tickles me," Arthur explained, before he was rolling onto his stomach and trailing his fingers up Alfred's chest. His eyes followed them. "I'd like to investigate you. See what would make you tick."

He smiled and pulled Arthur up so that he was laying on top of him, face to face with the Briton. "Wow. Impressive." He places a soft kiss on the tip of Arthur's nose. "So, my English lover was so awesome that they just said take the job, while I had to train and pass stupid amounts of tests and exams. How unfair."

He stuck his tongue out slightly. But if Arthur was so good... why was he slipping now? Why did they need him and Angie to keep an eye on him?

"To be frank, Alfred—Your country is a lot bigger than mine. We have to grab people with talent alone and hope they have what it takes - we don't have time either for all that intensive training mumbo jumbo. Though I was in training for a long while," he said, trying to recall what his first assignment was. Something like a bomb threat in Bristol. Or was that Weston-Super-Mare?

"We could play a little 'have you ever' if you'd like. To get to know each other a bit."

"Have you ever?" Alfred tilted his head slightly and glanced off to the side. "Like 20 questions?"

"I suppose so. It's like—Have you ever been in a car accident. Or have you ever beat up a Russian man in Morocco. Silly, tiny things like that. Normally it's a drinking game. But I don't know if we need that right now. But the mini bar is always an option," Arthur explained.

"Oh!" Alfred grinned and wiggled a bit to get more comfortable. "Okay, sure. I wanna go first! Let's see..." He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought, it was hard cause he wanted to ask Arthur open ended questions like 'Where did you go to school' or 'Do you like animals?' but that's not how you played the game.

"Have you ever had an allergic reaction?"

"Yes. I'm allergic to wasp stings. Ended up in hospital for an afternoon. Avoided the buggers ever since," Arthur stated simply, rolling his eyes, remembering that day when he was eight and playing at school. The girls he was with were screaming at the sight of it and he extended his hand out to take the insect, but it stung him instead. "...Have you ever played football? Er—English football."

"English football?" It took him a moment to figure that one out and he laughed, tugging at a piece of Arthur's hair. "Soccer! You mean soccer." He shifted slightly before answering. "Yeah, I played for a bit when I was in elementary school and some of middle school. Mom thought it was much safer than football."

His turn. "Have you ever been arrested?" He gave Arthur a flirty look. "Cause you know, bad boys are my thing."

Ah. Arthur sighed and gave a slight shrug. "Yes. I was hanging around some boys at the time who were weed smokers. They got caught when I was with them, stayed in the nick for the night because my bloody brothers would not pick me up and I was under 18, the twats. Now—Have you ever kissed another man, other than me?"

"Oh. Getting serious quick. Ummm... Besides my dad, ya know back before it was uncool to kiss your parents, I did kiss this one kid in high school." Alfred glanced up as if trying to remember and he made a face. "But he had this weird beard growing in and my braces cut his lip a bit so it tasted like cheetos and blood. Yuck. Have you ever owned an animal?"

"You had braces?" Arthur said, suddenly picturing Alfred as a very dorkish child - glasses too big for him and teeth ruined by the metallic accompaniments in his mouth. "No, I have not. Never had the chance with my brothers - we'd all either forget to feed it or feed it several times - and I'm on the job. Would like a cat or a rabbit though. Have you ever done something for your job that you are ashamed of?"

Alfred frowned a bit. "Ermm. Which job? Army or CIA?"

"Either," Arthur answered.

"Ahhh..." He fiddled with the sheets for a minute before glancing at Arthur's face, looking almost scared of admitting this to the Briton. "I've... I've killed people that really shouldn't have been killed. Maybe locked up in prison forever... but not killed."

He was quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts until he popped out another question. "Have you ever liked any of your siblings?"

Upon receiving that news, Arthur winced. Was that so? He looked up at Alfred and tried to imagine him killing others. In the army, he supposed he could understand it. But there was a niggling feeling in his chest that Arthur could not forget - he ignored Alfred's question, sitting up and hardening his gaze as he looked at his new partner, in more ways than one. "For the army only?"

Alfred blinked as Arthur sat up, the cold air hitting his chest where Arthur's warm body had been only a second ago. "Ahh...?" Well, shit. This game wasn't turning out to be so fun anymore. He bit the inside of his cheek and focused his attention on Arthur's bare shoulder instead of looking him in the eye. "No. Not just for the army..."

"What? They've made you _kill_ people?!" Arthur exclaimed. He knew the death punishment was still legal in many places of the USA, but he did not ever think that Alfred of all people would be one to exact that punishment in countries external to his own. It actually disgusted Arthur. He knew he had a bad feeling. "Have you tortured people too?! That's not being an agent—That's being an assassin, Alfred!"

Alfred's eyes widened slightly at Arthur's outburst, not quite expecting this whole turn of events before he frowned and shook his head. "No! It's not even remotely being an assassin!" It wasn't! There were rules, steps and things he had to go through before killing someone. "It's not torture either! Torture is putting bamboo shoots under finger nails and crap. I don't do that! Yes, I have questioned with force but nothing scaring or anything!"

He felt his defences rising, he wasn't a bad person! Why was Arthur him accusing him of that?

"Alfred—You are tasked with killing enemies of your nation-state, but that power could be used irresponsibly. Just as you say. Those people could be apprehended, brought into custody, locked up. Given trial _before_ they are given an execution sentence. The idea that you are doing it... it's not _you_ that I'm apprehensive of. It's those of you who take advantage of it," Arthur explained.

The very thought that Alfred had slain men with his own hands in a manner much more personally than a soldier wielding a gun was practically unimaginable for Arthur, but it was true by Alfred's own admittance. The very hands that draw him in for a kiss had throttled and stolen lives.

In his head, something suddenly flagged up. Mistrust.

"...Alfred. You tell me something. I need an answer. Am I part of a bigger plot that I am unaware of? You're not _using_ me, are you?"

"What?!" Alfred then sat up as well, knocking Arthur off his lap easily. Right now hurt and anger were bubbling up inside of him and he was doing his best not to lash out at the Briton. "I'm sorry, how did it come down to suddenly I might be using you for my own gain and that I'm an awful person cause I serve my country?!"

"I'm not saying that_ you_ are using me for your own gain-I'm asking whether or not your country is! Or—Or _both of our countries_!" Arthur snapped back, turning his head to glare at the American straight in the eyes. He could feel Alfred's anger being channelled towards him, but he did not care at that point in time. "I was asked out of that room. They spoke to you. Likely about me. What did they tell you, Alfred?!"

"Are you serious?! You are pitching a fit about what I've done in the past and if you can trust me or not because you are worried about what was said in that room?" Don't tell, don't tell. "If you have issues with what your bosses say then why don't you ask_ them_, instead of playing nice and then suddenly throwing this at me out of nowhere."

He snorted loudly and got up and out of the bed.

"It slipped out of my mind, because frankly, I spent much more of my day hoping to have some relaxing time with you—!" The Briton groaned. Yes. It was probably his fault for suddenly ruining the situation by asking all of these questions, but he could not help but be insecure. Something was wrong, and he was not unaware of it. "Look Alfred. We're both agents. We know countless ways to get the truth out of one another without even letting the other have a whiff of our suspicion. The only reason I'm _telling _you is because, believe it or not, I want to make this work and I'm not about to go behind your back to get my answer!"

Alfred was quiet for a moment before he moved over to his suit case and started digging through it.

Whatever he was doing, it eluded Arthur. He watched from the bedside, curious to see what Alfred would do next. "Jones?"

He pulled out a pair of bright blue swim trunks and a pair of red goggles. He slipped the trunks on easily and shoved his bare feet into his tennis shoes as he grabbed one of the two key cards they had been given. Alfred moved towards the door and turned to glance at Arthur over his shoulder. "Don't worry, _Mr._ Kirkland," he turned back and opened the door. "I'll be back, just have to clear my head."

Then he left.

Arthur watched him leave, realising he was quite powerless to do anything. Even if he could do something, he wouldn't. They both needed a bit of time.

"Really Arthur. Must you ruin _every_ relationship you enter into..." He sighed, and he laid down, pulling the blankets up and over him so he could sleep his fatigue away.

* * *

><p>Stroke, Stroke, Breath.<p>

Stroke, Stroke, Breath.

Stroke, Stroke, Breath.

Reach wall, push off.

Repeat.

Alfred continued to move through the water until his arms, legs and lungs burned, muscles yelling at him to stop and take a break. He continued to push on until finally a sharp twinge in his leg made him pause and gasp, the small cramp in his leg making him frown and slowly tread water until he reached the wall and pulled off his goggles.

His arms felt like noodles as he rested them on the edge and laid his head over them, gasping softly as he finally let himself breath normally. But now that he was taking a break his thoughts went right back to Arthur and their fight. "Shit..." He muttered under his breath and rolled his head to the side, dark gold wet hair falling into his face.

Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't they have just had a fun night, order room service, watch a movie and then maybe have some more stellar sex? Because of their fucking jobs. Guess that was what Alfred got for becoming involved with another agent from a different country. Damn, he should have just gone to school for astronomy like his dad had said to, then he wouldn't be in this mess.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the pool door opening and the soft slap of bare feet on wet concrete floor. That's why he jumped slightly when that familiar deep and heavily accented voice spoke from above him. "Mr. Pierce?"

Blue eyes shot up to meet light violet and Alfred froze for a moment. Oh, shit. It was him. "Mr. Braginski!" He said, a bit too loudly since his voice echoed off all the tile in the room. His surprise was met with a kind smile that hid something dark under it.

"I am just as surprised to see you as well. I did not know that you were staying in the country longer than the Gala."

Alfred let a weak smile onto his face as he shrugged lightly. "Oh, you know. Thought as long as I'm here, might as well see the sites and everything. What are you doing here?" Alfred glanced down and quickly wished he hadn't. The Russian wore an open robe with a dark red Speedo underneath, Alfred mentally gagged. What was with European men and Speedos?

Ivan seemed to glance behind Alfred before answering him. "Ah, I am here on business. But, I came down to have a relaxing time in the hot tub, this hotel is well known for keeping a clean and well kept pool area." Alfred nodded like that was interesting. Good for you, Russian hotel.

"Care to join me?"

Alfred blinked up at the tall man for a second before his request actually sank in. "Oh." Came his intelligent reply before nodding slowly. "Sure, why not." That wasn't what he wanted to say! He didn't want to share a tub of hot water with an almost naked Russian man! Ugh!

While Alfred continued to berate himself mentally he heaved himself out of the pool as gracefully as his noodle arms would let him and shakily stood up, trying not to flinch when Ivan reached out to steady him. "You swim often? You are very good."

Alfred gave him his best friendly grin, hiding the fact that this man touching him made him want to bathe in gasoline. "Yeah, but it's only a hobby. Ya know, keep those pounds off." He watched Ivan smile and nod before heading over to the hot tub. Alfred thought for a minute before telling Ivan that he needed to tell his 'wife' that he would be a little longer.

"Goodness. At one in the morning? Does she not sleep?"

Alfred just grinned. "Oh you know. She just worries." He quickly moved over to the hotel's telephone on the other side of the room and picked up the phone, twirling the cord with his fingers to hide his nervousness and punched in the number nine along with Angie's room number. After four rings he finally heard her pick up and slur into the phone. "H-Hello?"

"Hey, Baby. It's me."

"Al... Alfred? What on earth? It's like past midnight."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. Just wanted to call so you didn't worry."

"Worry?" He could hear her start to sit up, her voice coming out clearer as she started to wake up. "Al, why would I worry?"

He grinned and waved at Ivan who just nodded at him from the bubbling tub. "I'm just going to be hanging out with Mr. Braginski, for a bit. Remember, the guy from the party a few days ago?" He kept his smile wide even as he heard her curse and fumble around. "Do you need me there? Do you need back up?"

"No, no, Honey. It's okay. You can go back to sleep, just tell _the board_ that I might not be able to make the teleconference, cause I think I might be getting a sore throat," he cleared his throat for effect. He heard Angie growl softly and shift the phone. "By _the board_ do you mean Arthur?"

Alfred laughed and nodded. "You're so smart, Sweetie. I love you!" Without waiting for a response he hung up the phone and turned back to Ivan. "Well, let's get our soak on!"

He could feel Ivan watching him as he waded into the hot water, hissing as his aching muscles and skin burned slightly from the heat and chemicals. Gingerly he sat down on the opposite side and let out a loud groan as he flopped his head back and pretended to relax. There was a long moment of silence as the two of them just enjoyed the hot water before Ivan spoke up.

"So, What happened with you and Mr. Taylor?"

Alfred froze and lifted his head to look at the man. "Excuse me?"

Ivan just shrugged and moved a few bubbles to the side. "You two seemed very tense around each other and then after you two went to the gardens I didn't see him, you or your wife. I hope nothing bad happened."

This man's smile scared the crap out of Alfred.

"Oh! You mean the British guy?" Crap... what had been Arthur's characters name? Harold? No. It started with an H though... Henry? Shit. Oh! "Nah, that was just Harry. Me and him have this funny kind of rivalry going on, he was just mad cause he thinks I hit below the belt recently."

"Ahh, and did you?"

Uhh, whatever. "Yeah, I guess it was a little dirty."

God damn, that stupid smile. "Do you like to play dirty, Mr. Pierce?"

At that Alfred was feeling all kinds of wrong vibes from this guy. He really just wanted to get out of the water and run back to the room, but he just smiled and splashed the water slightly with his hands. "Only if I have to." Change the subject! "I forgot, what line of work are you in?"

Ivan watched him for a minute before answering. "Construction Management." He answered coolly and stared at Alfred as if daring him to question it. "Believe it or not, _someone _has to build these hotels and buildings." Alfred let out a weak laugh at what he thought was a joke and repressed a shiver when Ivan laughed as well.

"That's cool. You travel a lot for the job?" As Ivan answered Alfred just hoped Angie was able to get a hold of Arthur and they would figure out what to do.

* * *

><p>There were three very loud and harsh knocks on Arthur's door before he heard his name yelled. "Hey! Get your British ass up! let me in!"<p>

Arthur groaned, hating the fact that he had been woken up. Damn – fell asleep. He rubbed his eyes and tossed a look around the dark room. Alfred was still not back yet. After looking at the clock provided, Arthur let out an 'oh'. It had only been two hours or so. Alfred was likely still at the gym or whether he had gone to.

He rubbed his eyes of sleep, before there was another few loud knocks on the door. Arthur slipped out of bed, recognising Angie's voice, before he remembered that Alfred had left him naked. Bugger. "Hold on—Just a _minute_!" Arthur shouted insistently, just loud enough for her to hear, before he quickly was searching through his things and got himself dressed into something decent. The door opened a minute later.

"What is it, Angelique? It's late. I was asleep," Arthur pointed out. "Alfred isn't here if you are after him. He went out."

"Yeah, I know," she said pushing her way inside and moving to sit down at the desk as she started hooking up a laptop to the wall and logging on. "He called me from the pool. It seems that Mr. Tall, Blonde and creepy is staying with us in the hotel and has spotted Alfred down in the pool."

"Hotel? Braginski is in the fucking hotel?! He's Russian—Surely he has his own bloody home here?!" Arthur said, shutting the door and making his voice a little more hushed. It was night, after all. They had no idea if they had neighbours in the rooms nearby them. "If he is a suspicious character, he may have a track on us. Maybe he followed us here. We should have been more observant."

Angie frowned as she opened her browser and opened up a tab, typing Ivan's name in quickly. "I don't know. He's using Alfred's fake name so either he's playing a really confusing game or this is just a freak accident." She started reading through the information that the C.I.A data base had on him and frowned. "Weird. This guy's has only been flagged once, and that time was only cause he was working for the soviets back when he was younger."

She continued to read on and glanced over at Arthur a few times. "Does the English government have anything on this guy that we don't know of?"

"Not that I know of. However, I do have some evidence on him. He's my only lead so far. I had some chat messages interpreted by a colleague who said that Braginski and the ball event came up. It's why I'm here—I came to Russia to check on Braginski," Arthur explained, taking a seat on the bed. "There is a distinct possibility that he might be the brains behind the whole trafficking operation here."

"Maybe..." Angie agreed, chewing on her lip thoughtfully as she continued to read on. "He's certainly creepy enough. But then again, looks aren't everything." She glanced at the phone for a moment before looking at Arthur. "I want to know what they are talking about, but I can't call down to the pool and if I go down there what if I didn't give Alfred enough time to get anything good?"

Simple. Arthur shrugged. "I could go. Braginski does not know that Alfred and I are involved, after all. Also, I do have a little bit of an alibi to why I am still here—"

He proceeded to explain to Angie his approach with Braginski - how he was trying to elicit himself into Braginski's market by becoming interested outwardly in the purchase of those certain goods - subtly, so to speak. It was not far-fetched that he would still be here, even if he had not engaged Braginski about it quite yet. "—If I can fool him into thinking I am a buyer, we're in."

Angie quickly shook her head. "No no. Not yet," she put a stop to Arthur's plan with a her hand making a slicing motion in the air. "If this guys isn't on our trail right now he will definitely be if he sees the two guys who got into it at the party at the same hotel the same night. We'll book you an appointment with him in the morning though."

"Well then what will we do now? Just wait here while Alfred potentially gets himself in trouble?" The Englishman sighed.

She rubbed at her face slightly, her long dark brown hair hung in waves over her shoulder. "Okay. So, we have you and me. Both which this guy has seen. He knows me as Alfred's wife and you as Harry who has bad blood with Alfred." She glanced over at Arthur.

"Okay. How about at 2:30, I go down there and ask him to come up to bed?"

"That would be advisable—I'm not terribly sure what we could do otherwise. We just have to be very careful in case Alfred is caught up in something," Arthur exclaimed, bowing his head as he tried to think about what to do to help the situation. Alfred was out there and potentially in danger if they did not get this right. That said, Alfred was a professional. Of all people, he should be competent enough to deal with this.

This was his fault for being insecure – but if Alfred was clever, it could launch their investigation all over again.

* * *

><p>"So, how long are you going to be staying here?"<p>

Ivan glanced at him, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Why, Mr. Pierce? You plan on following me?"

Alfred tried his best not to blanch at the thought of willingly following Ivan anywhere and forced a laugh out, subtly moving further away from the man in the tub. "Oh, you caught me. I'm actually a big stalker."

He was surprised that Ivan actually laughed at that, the deep loud laughter filling the entire pool area and echoing perfectly off all the tile floors and walls. "You are funny, Mr. Pierce. I enjoy that."

Alfred gave him a weak thumbs up.

"But, to answer your question I will not be staying long. I have business that needs me somewhere else."

Alfred nodded, noticing that his hands were starting to prune. Yuck. "Ahhh, more buildings need built?"

"Something like that. Yes. I'll be traveling to Asia to oversee some work with another company."

Alfred's ears perked up at that and he turned his entire body to face Ivan. "Asia? Wow, that's super cool! I've always wanted to go there, mainly Japan, because it just looks so awesome!" Yes, be interested. Alfred gave Ivan his best, most enthusiastic smile and watched as Ivan raised an amused eyebrow.

"Then why do you not go. You have the money don't you?"

A small shrug. "Yeah, but work gets in the way."

"Ahhh."

"Yeah... So, what part of Asia you going to?"

They sat in silence for a few moments, Alfred thought that Ivan had decided he wasn't worth telling anything before Ivan spoke up again. "India."

Alfred blinked before glancing over at the large man. "What?"

Ivan sighed and swiped at the damp bangs hanging in his eyes before repeating himself. "India. I am going to India for work."

Alfred watched him for a moment before giving him a happy smile. "Wow, that's really cool. Make sure not to get Delhi belly." He watched Ivan chuckle slightly and nod, before they both looked up when they heard the entrance to the pool open and Angie walked in. Flannel pajamas and hair in a messy braid. Classy.

"Hey, Babe!" Alfred called and waved over at her, when her eyes landed on him Alfred could see worry ease off on her expression.

"Hello, Sweetie. I came down here cause it's getting pretty late, I was worried."

There was no lie there. Alfred smiled and quickly stood up, wading over to the stairs and started climbing out. "I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't mean to worry you. Just got to talk with my new friend." As he walked over to her he gave her a small kiss on the cheek and reached out to take her hand, letting his thumb smooth over her knuckles. When she looked up at him with a small pout he laughed and gave her a kiss on the lips. "Alright. I'm coming up, no worries." He reached over to where the hotel kept spare towels and wrapped one around his waist.

"See ya, Ivan!" He gave a wave, not watching to see if it was returned before putting an arm over Angie's shoulders and heading out with her.

* * *

><p>Only when they got back to the room and locked the door behind them did Alfred let his carefree smile drop and he leaned heavily back against the door with a sigh. "Jesus Christ. If I knew I was going to be working tonight I would have eaten more for dinner. Now I'm starving."<p>

He winced as he received a jab in the gut from Angie. "Your stomach can wait. You need to tell us what the hell went on down there." Alfred frowned and glanced at Arthur. "Hey."

Upon meeting Alfred's gaze, Arthur bowed his head a little. With the American's eyes on him, Arthur straightened up from his seating position on their bed - he was still glad Angie did not mock them for having to share - and gave him an emotionless look. "Alfred. I'm glad you're back safely. I hope you've done some good," came his controlled, neutral response.

"Yeah." Alfred muttered softly and then moved over to the phone. "I'm ordering room service." He held up a hand when Angie opened her mouth to object. "Woman, don't even. I have had to sit in a hot chlorine filled ditch with a large hairy Russian man. I deserve a Cheeseburger."

Angie rolled her eyes but allowed him to dial up room service and order far too much. After, she handed Alfred a pair of work out pants from his duffle bag, which he quickly moved to the bathroom to change out of his wet swim trunks. When he came out he sighed and laid down on the bed dramatically. "Alright. Where do you want me to start?"

Arthur, when Alfred had left to get changed, had been uncharacteristically silent. When Alfred laid down on the bed beside him, where they were making love just a few hours earlier, he pulled a slightly disconcerted face. Not enough to be suspicious. Angie barely knew him, after all. Neither did, really. "From the beginning. Right after you left." Arthur prompted.

So Alfred told them about Ivan's plans to go to India, about his weird 'building management' job and about his really gross speedo that left nothing to the imagination what so ever. "Ugh! I'm going to be seeing that thing in my dreams! Not dreams! Nightmares!"

Angie rolled her eyes and went back to her lap top to research. "You act like you've never seen a dick before."

At Alfred's inhuman screech Angie burst out laughing and ducked the pillow he threw at her. "That wasn't a dick! It was a freaking whale wrapped up in red spandex!" Alfred made a dying noise before flopping back on the bed.

Of course, Arthur held in his thoughts. He sniggered privately into his hand, although deep down he did emphasise. Gay as he was, he was not terribly sure he would like to become that acquainted with Ivan in a speedo either. He patted Alfred's shoulder, before considering what they had to do next.

The likelihood that Ivan was involved in all of this was slim, but it was the only lead they had – a lead that they were all clinging to. A week more investigation would not harm them.

"So… India." Arthur said slowly, considering. He hoped Alfred and Angie had had their shots.

Angie nodded at Arthur's statement. "It seems like that's our next stop. I'll book us three seats on a flight for tomorrow, I call aisle seat!" Alfred made an attempt to throw another pillow at her but gave up half way through so he could just turn over and bury his face in the pillow.

"Right. Hope you guys don't mind coach, cause that's all we are going to get." She started to pack up her stuff which had Alfred sitting up.

"Where you going?" He asked quickly, making her raise an eyebrow. "Back to my room. Ya, know. To sleep?"

"Oh... Right." He glanced at Arthur before laying back down. "See you in the morning, Ang." Alfred muttered while the pillow covered his face.

When she left, the room was plunged into somewhat of an uncomfortable silence.

Arthur sighed, knowing he had to work some real magic in the morning if he was going to be able to be much help when they went to India. It was good that he and Angie had managed to arrange an appointment while they waited for Alfred to be done. If Ivan knew that he was there in India otherwise, it would become highly problematic.

He exhaled and looked at Alfred, who was pretending to be asleep for now. Arthur frowned, before he leant down to kiss Alfred's shoulder. "We've got our lead," he reminded Alfred. It was not a waste. He then swivelled around and closed his eyes, laying on the sheets.

Better be ready, there was still a lot of work to do.

"Night, Alfred," Arthur told him as he switched the lights off.

* * *

><p><strong>More action next chapter - also a location change.<strong>

**Their jobs are making them go through a rough spot. Let's see how this lasts. Cheers for reading.**

**- Destinyshiva and Tenkuno. (Destiny-shiva and Xandertheundead on tumblr)**


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